And The World Stood Still
by Nutzkie
Summary: After a tough mission to Japan, Team possible takes a day for some much-deserved R&R. But what happens when the time and place conspire to become "so the drama." Team Possible is about to learn that sometimes history is a lot closer than you think.
1. Calm Before the Storm

**Required Legal-ease:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything about her. I'm just a simple guy who's borrowing these characters for the purpose of telling what I hope turns out to be a good story. I get nothing out of this, except for maybe a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's not much, admittedly, but it's something… sort of… kind of… I guess.

Anyhooooo… On with the show!

* * *

**- And The World Stood Still -**

Faint beads of perspiration formed along the edge of a well-tanned hairline. They came small at first, almost imperceptible in their scale, but soon grew, merging and joining with their brethren to form ever larger drops until gravity forced the issue, causing them to run downward through the network of concentration-etched furrows that crossed the young man's brow like canals across an arid landscape. Accelerating down the slope of his face, they flowed through his bushy eyebrows like a lazy river through a bed of reeds and proceeded around the corner of his eye to the smooth plain of his cheek, their travels unhindered by any obstacles along their path.

A khaki sleeve briskly reached up to whisk the offending droplets away, its owner grunting with annoyance in the process. He was most definitely in the middle of something right now, perhaps the most important thing he had done in all of his young life, and if there was one thing he didn't need it was his body's own God-given functions distracting him from the task at hand.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he shoved such thoughts aside for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes and returned his focus to his work. Closing his left eye tight against the onslaught of early-morning light, he hovered his right just above the eyepiece and peered downward at the earth far below.

For the past three years, this is what Thomas Ferebee had done. Sitting in the noses of various American airplanes, he had looked down upon the world through the lens of a Norden bombsight, seeing a multitude of enemy cities in the process, and helping lay waste to each of them in turn. Throughout it all, he had gained experience, and that experience had served him well.

It is often said that practice makes perfect, after all, and by the summer of 1945, Ferebee's extensive practice had made him a living legend of sorts. He was known as a magician with a bombsight, and his skills had led him to be considered one of the best bombardiers in the United States Army Air Corps.

And it was those same skills that had landed him where he was now, as a member of a unit known as the 509th Composite Group. Stationed on the tiny island outpost of Tinnian, the group had spent the past several months practicing a strange and indescribable maneuver in which a specially modified B-29 Superfortress would drop a single, weighted bomb known to air crews as a "pumpkin," then execute a sharp, diving turn that seemed more suited to a fighter than to a lumbering, four-engine behemoth such as the Superfortress. It was an intensive training regimen that seemed to have no purpose, and any questions regarding the nature of their assigned mission were met with a stonewall of secrecy and obfuscation.

But one fact was for certain, however: For a farm boy from Mocksville, North Carolina, he was sure a long way from home.

Peering through his sight once again, he made a few minor adjustments to the sophisticated optics that comprised the high-tech, highly classified unit. The Norden bombsight was a technological marvel for its time, after all, capable of compensating for both the relative motions of the aircraft and wind shear. Official War Department memorandum boasted that the Norden could put a bomb into a pickle barrel from 30,000 feet, although the claim left many a bombardier wondering just how big of a pickle barrel the development team had been using.

But none of that mattered at the moment. The only relevant thing was the completion of his mission, and that would require every ounce of focus that he could muster. Pushing all other thoughts aside once again, he glanced again through the bombsight, and then at his watch.

"Three minutes to bomb run, Paul!" he called out glancing back over his left shoulder to address the young colonel seated at the controls of the massive airplane.

"Affirmative and acknowledged." Colonel Paul Tibbets replied professionally, his eyes never leaving the sky in front of him. As a military pilot since before the beginning of the war, he was well aware of the reputation carried by the young major seated in front of him. It was this reputation, after all, that had led Tibbets to hand pick Ferebee as a member of his crew. Even onboard this solitary aircraft, Tibbets was among a privileged few who knew the true nature of their mission this day, and with so much a stake, he had decided long ago to surround himself with nothing and no one but the best.

"Opening the bay doors now!" Ferebee shouted, reaching over to momentarily hover his thumb above the associated switch. He swallowed hard and steeled himself for whatever monumental event was about to take place. Even now he had no idea of what their mission entailed: No clue as to what he was about to do. All he knew is that it was big, and it was his orders.

He felt the switch click into position beneath his thumb, while several yards behind him a pair of pneumatic pistons sprung to life, snapping a pair of massive aluminum doors open to the world outside.

* * *

As the tell-tale "woosh" of escaping air gave way to the noise of the bustling crowd, four figures stepped through the double doors and out onto the station platform, drinking in the sight before them. The _Hiroshima Minsyu Eki_ station was large: Far larger than many of the train stations that served American communities. Featuring a vaulted ceiling and twelve separate tracks, it could efficiently accommodate tens of thousands of rush hour commuters in a clean and safe environment that was well protected from nature's fickle temperaments. Bright lighting and humanity abounded in this cathedral of commerce, paying testament to the importance placed on mass transit by this most forward thinking of cultures.

"Man!" Ron marveled, craning his neck upward. "The Japanese sure know how to travel in style!"

"Hai, Stoppable-san." Yori replied, her own almond eyes following Ron's. "The Japanese national transportation networks are somewhat more advanced than your own. Especially when it comes to trains."

"I'll say!" Ron enthused, turning to face the sleek machine that had just deposited them at their current location. "These bullet trains are beyond badical! I don't know if I'm looking at a train or a low-flying aircraft!"

"The _Shinkansen_ is indeed a source of great pride for the Japanese people, Stoppable-san." Yori admitted with a faint giggle. "It is seen as a physical representation of Japan's aspirations toward a bright and prosperous future."

"Yeah, and it's really _shiny!"_

At this, Yori giggled and Kim rolled her eyes. Although very few people would ever suspect it, Ron's enthusiasms included much more than just junk food and airplanes. For beneath his goofy exterior, he was actually a sort of closet train buff.

"All right, Casey Jones. If you're done foaming at the mouth, let's go find a place to eat." Kim commanded as she walked over to take Ron's arm, leading him away from the shimmering vehicle that held him so captivated.

"Huh? Oh yeah… Food. I'm all for that." Ron stammered, doing his best to shift mental gears at the change in topic.

"Yeah, I thought you might be." Kim smiled as she led Ron, Yori, Sensei and herself through the station's northern entrance and into the bustling streets beyond.

* * *

About an hour later, four well-fed travelers sat comfortably in the pleasant air of a small, sidewalk restaurant. It had taken a while to find an open establishment at this early hour, but the abundance of streetcars in this transit-minded city made the travel easy, and after a pleasant ride westward across town, they had located their quarry. It was well into the morning rush hour by now, and with their appetites satisfied, they were content to simply enjoy a few minutes of relaxation and let the world pass them by.

It had been a tough mission that had brought them to the land of the rising sun, and the ensuing fight had contained all of the danger and physical exertion that they had come to expect from such endeavors. But in the end, they had proven victorious once again, and with their perfect record still intact, it was time to enjoy a little rest and relaxation.

Glancing around at the streetscape that surrounded him, watching throngs of commuters rushing to work, Ron couldn't help but be amazed. Japanese cities seemed so sleek and modern compared to American urban areas, he always felt. Where many major metropolitan areas in the states featured an eclectic and somewhat cluttered mix of old and new buildings, Japanese cities seemed decidedly more progressive in their architecture, featuring clean lines, streamlined shapes, and a strong emphasis placed on the efficient use of space.

And then there were the crowds.

American cities were no doubt crowded, and European cities even more so, he had come to learn from the team's many missions across the Atlantic. It was something he had always attributed to the age of such cities, with many of them having been laid out in an era long before the existence of modern automobiles or population densities.

But Japanese cities seemed to be in a league all their own. The challenge of cramming nearly 128 million people onto a string of mountaintops jutting precariously out of the ocean had been formidable to say the least, he often surmised, and it was because of such circumstances that the Japanese people had long since become experts at living in close confines to virtually everyone and everything else.

Japanese crowds were loud, lively and packed together like sardines in a tin, he had come to accept, but today there was something different about the whole sitch. Although the quarters seemed just as close as usual, there was a decidedly different feel about the experience. Things were more quiet and subdued than expected. It seemed as though a pall of somber reflection hung above the crowd this day, enshrouding the city like a faint haze of smoke: Difficult to see, but still making its presence felt.

Ron suddenly felt an eerie chill go down his spine, and he began to have the sinking suspicion that something was going on that he was unaware of. It was the same feeling he got when the D-Hall bullies were preparing another one of their cruel pranks, and one glance at Kim told him that the sense of general unease was mutual.

"_Pssst…_ Yori." Kim whispered, leaning toward the young ninja. "What's going on here?"

"Whatever do you mean, Possible-san?" Yori inquired, raising a narrow eyebrow at Kim's question. "Do you suspect that all is not as it should be?"

"I don't know." Kim sheepishly admitted. "It's just that, with the way everybody's walking around, it's like they all just came from a funeral or something."

"Ah. Your intuition serves you well, Kim Possible." Sensei spoke up, not breaking his thoughtful gaze from the sidewalk before him. "Indeed, they are, in a way, participating in a funeral."

"Say again." Ron broke in, clearly confused. "If they're all part of some crazy funeral procession, then who the heck died? And what's more, why haven't we heard about it? I mean, if people are all carrying on like this, then the dude must've been somebody important."

"Ron!" Kim sternly admonished. "Show a little sensitivity, please?"

"Now, now… Stoppable-san poses a fair question." Sensei reassured Kim. "The funeral of which they are all a part is not for a mere person." He softly explained. "It is for the city."

"The… city?" Kim stammered, now clearly just as confused as her boyfriend. "The entire city has a funeral?"

"Hai, Possible-san." Yori softly replied, casting her eyes solemnly downward. "Are you aware of the date today?"

"Uh, yeah…" Kim replied, glancing down at her wrist to check the "time & date" function of the Kimmunicator. "It's August six…"

Suddenly, Kim's words caught in her throat as her eyes opened wide with realization.

"Today?" she managed to gasp.

"Hai." Yori softly said, seeming to have developed a sudden fascination with the laces of her shoes.

"Hey… What's she talking about?" Ron asked, leaning over toward his girlfriend with a concerned look on his face. Kim's immediate reaction was to spin around in her seat, grabbing Ron by the shoulders and looking him straight in the eye.

"Think back to Barkin's history class, Ron!" she excitedly whispered. "We're in Hiroshima on August sixth, and it's a quarter till eight in the morning! We've only got half an hour until the bomb falls!"

* * *

It was the waiting that killed him.

Things seemed to happen so much quicker when he was flying in Europe. Bomb runs only lasted a few seconds there: Just enough time to line up your approach, drop your load, and get the hell out of Dodge.

In this case, however, the run was proving to be considerably longer. By this point it had been nearly two minutes since navigator Ted Van Kirk had called out "IP," indicating that they had reached the "Initial Point": The point at which they would begin the run. The wait was absolutely nerve wracking. Seconds seemed to drag on for minutes, each tick of the clock drawing itself out with excruciating duration, like a dull knife being drawn along soft flesh: Every second, the city looming larger in his scope… every second, the danger of retaliation mounting.

At least the skies over southern Honshu were quiet this morning, _so far._ The weather this day was perfect: Bright and sunny without a cloud in the sky, and the menacing puffs of flack that had greeted many an aircrew in Europe were conspicuously absent. It was a lazy summer morning worthy of any postcard, or Chamber of Commerce advertising campaign. It was a good day for a picnic in the park. It was a good day to drop bombs.

Behind him, Colonel Tibbets sat idly by. By this point in the mission, Ferebee was actually the one controlling the plane, making slight adjustments to pitch and heading, honing in on his aiming point this day: A unique T-shaped bridge in the center of the city… Something that he himself had called "the best damn AP of the war."

"Everything still good back there, Deak?" Tibbets called out, his voice barely registering in the periphery of Ferebee's consciousness.

"Good to go, Paul." Ordnance Officer Bill Parsons replied, quickly glancing the small display panel that monitored the weapon's vital functions. Essentially the caretaker of the bomb on this mission, it was Captain Parsons who had climbed back into the bomb bay shortly after takeoff and had assembled the weapon's firing mechanism. He knew more about the inner workings of this terrifying new weapon than perhaps anyone this side of Los Alamos.

"Roger that." Tibbets responded. "Everyone, stand by for tone break… and the turn."

Meanwhile, in the city far below, bleary-eyed residents stepped out into the streets, headed for jobs, schools, and any of the other innumerable obligations that force people from the comfort of their beds each and every Monday morning. It was the start of the morning commute in this sleep-deprived city of 300,000; it's residents still weary from two false air-raid alerts the night before. Throngs of suit-clad businessmen and giggling schoolchildren boarded streetcars while housewives headed out to do the daily grocery shopping. All seemed the picture of normalcy. None suspected anything amiss.

The moment was now ripe for history as Ferebee's thumb hovered above the ordinance release switch. Tibbets and co-pilot Captain Bob Lewis sat at the ready, waiting for the precise moment when they would re-assume control of the aircraft and execute the exit turn: A turn which they all hoped would keep the mighty Superfortress from becoming caught up in the bomb's gargantuan blast. Captain Ted Van Kirk sat at the navigator's desk, his charts spread out before him, maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the stainless steel table. Every man aboard, with the exception of Tibbets and Ferebee, had by now donned polarized welding goggles: A precaution against the blinding flash of light that was expected to accompany the explosion.

Ferebee's headphones, and those of every other crewman, and every other aircrew, were now filled with the pulse of an electronic tone. It was a lone, monotonous note that filled their ears and their thoughts, synchronizing the various systems onboard the Enola Gay, and counting down the final seconds until the weapon behind them would be released, and the world would be changed forever.

A mile behind the Enola Gay, Major Charles Sweeney, sitting at the helm of a Superfortress called the "Great Artiste," heard the tone. He signaled his bombardier, and Captain Raymond "Kermit" Beahan pushed a button that jettisoned a parachute-slung bundle of blast gauges from the plane's forward weapons bay.

And two miles behind that, Major George Marquardt turned his "Necessary Evil" 90 degrees to the flight path of the Enola Gay, allowing his crew a prime position from which to photograph the event for posterity.

And in the cockpits of the reconnaissance planes that had scouted weather conditions earlier in the day, the tone was heard as well. Sitting on the tarmac at Iwo Jima in his plane, the "Top Secret," Captain Chuck McKnight turned to squadron security chief Major William "Bud" Uanna and remarked "It's about to drop."

For fifteen seconds, the tone rang in the ears of every man who heard it. For fifteen seconds, no one dared move, or even breathe. Time seemed to stand still in those interminable seconds, a whole series of eternities passing between each moment and the next.

And then, at precisely 8:15:17 AM, all fell silent.

"Bomb away!" Ferebee shouted as the Enola Gay lurched upward, suddenly free of its four-and-a-half ton cargo. Tibbets and Lewis instantly grabbed the control wheels and cranked them hard right, pushing forward and kicking rudder as they did so. Shoving the throttles to full power, four Wright-Cyclone engines revved to the red line, and Tibbets ground his teeth as the massive airframe creaked and groaned under the stress, imparting over three Gs of force across the airframe and its crew. Pushing the Silverplate Superfortress to its limit, Tibbets and Lewis held the turn, coming about nearly 155 degrees from their original course before finally relinquishing the maneuver and returning to a more level, and less heart-stopping, flight path.

Meanwhile, the weapon known simple as "Little Boy" plummeted toward its date with infamy, far below.

* * *

The effect was almost surreal when you stopped to think about it. Here they were in the heart of a major city, fighting against a crowd of morning commuters, and yet they weren't even really fighting that much. The normal sensation of being a salmon swimming upstream was gone, replaced by the feeling of an almost cooperative effort. Although their group seemed to be moving in the opposite direction of most people at this moment, there was no massive shoving match… no jostling or bumping of shoulders… no muttered oaths or shouting of obscenities. Most simply and expediently shifted to one side and made may for them, a few bowing slightly as they did so. It was an exercise in politeness and civility so foreign to those of Western sensibilities that it seemed almost spooky, provided that one didn't take the time to really think it through.

Moving ever farther away from the station, and ever closer to the center of the city, the crowds soon dissipated and the walking became much more relaxed. For Ron, there was little indication of where they were all going, but just as he had done so many times in the past, he made himself content in letting Kim take the lead. For Kim, there was little idea of where she was headed as well, but on some level she instinctively knew that they had to move toward the heart of this thriving metropolis. An indescribable yet undeniable force was pulling her that way, and she honestly felt that she had no choice but to follow.

Their two Japanese hosts remained a respectful distance behind, matching the pace being set by the two teen heroes. They knew of Kim's destination; even if she herself didn't, and they understood why she felt compelled seek it out.

Moving through streets lined with glass-fronted condominiums and department stores, the four of them took note that their surroundings had suddenly turned much quieter than what they had been just a few moments before. Silence hung over the street like a shroud, bringing with it a palpable sense that something special and dramatic was about to take place. The pushed onward still, heading toward a shimmering river, when Ron pulled up short.

"Whoa, K.P! Check it out!" he exclaimed, excitedly pointing at a sizable object in the distance.

By now, the group had reached the banks of a wide river, its wave crests shimmering and glinting in the bright morning sun. Immediately in front of them, an ornate bridge crossed the tranquil flow, and on the far bank stood something that seemed decidedly out of place.

In a city comprised almost entirely of modern buildings, the structure before them stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Standing in stark contrast to the bare bones, post-modernist style of the steel-and-glass boxes that dominated the skyline, this building bore decorative accents and embellishments that harkened back to a bygone era in architecture. Although obviously derelict and ravaged by the forces of time and the elements, it still sported features such as decorative moldings around the windows, cornices, and a decorative outer wall encircling the perimeter of its grounds. And from the center of it all, a cylindrical tower rose from the building's heart, capped off by the remains of an elegant domed roof that had long since been reduced to little more than a skeletal framework of rusted steel. It looked sad and forlorn in its abandonment, but at the same time proud and defiant, still standing tall against the relentless forces that continually sought to bring it tumbling down to the ground.

"What do you suppose the back story is with _that_ old timer?" Ron pondered aloud in wonderment.

"_That,_ Stoppable-san, is the Industrial Promotion Hall." Sensei spoke up. "This was one of the most important structures in the city at one time, hosting many important professional, political and social events."

"Well it must've been one heck of a party to do _that_ kind of damage." Ron observed, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the ruined structure before him.

"I don't think this is from boozy partygoers, Ron." Kim observed with an exasperated sigh, placing her face in her hands. "I think its _blast_ damage."

"Well I'd say it's obvious they had a blast, Kim. I'm just hoping there was a damage deposit on file."

"_Arrrrrrrgh!"_

"I believe you misunderstand, Stoppable-san." Yori politely informed, approaching Ron to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Today, the Industrial Hall is known as the Atomic Dome. It is the only structure left in the city that pre-dates the attack. It has been left in place to serve as both a reminder of the tragedy, and a symbol of the city's rebirth from the ashes."

"Oh-_ohhhhhhh…_ I get it." Ron quickly responded with a tone of understanding. "It's like a monument sort of thing, then. Remembering the past and pointing to the future."

"Hai, Stoppable-san. That is quite correct." Yori stated firmly, turning to walk onto the bridge, still following the lead of Kim and Sensei.

"Well, you gotta admit… That was an easy mistake to make." Ron shouted out as he began jogging to catch up with the group. "I mean, it's just like that wrecked stadium we saw in Italy, right K.P.?"

"Ron, the Roman Coliseum was damaged by centuries of erosion. Not _soccer_ fans."

"Ex-_scuse_ me? Have you _seen_ the crowds at those games?" Ron replied defensively, ever so slightly increasing the pace of his run.

He found himself slightly winded by the time he finally caught up with the rest of the group. Leaning casually on a nearby railing and allowing his head to hang low as he caught his breath, he was quick to find some measure of respite. The sky was clear and the sun was bright this morning, just as it had been on that fateful day so many years before. Reflections of sunlight across the wave tops in the river below acted like a thousand flashbulbs before his eyes, forcing him to squint and direct his gaze away, looking down toward the sidewalk instead.

The sight that greeted him seemed odd at first, although he had difficulty pinpointing exactly why. The bridge was beautiful to be sure, its railings accentuated by decorative stone lanterns set at regular intervals along the length of its span. The craftsmanship and attention to detail was impressive to be certain, but it was the minute areas surrounding these details that commanded the lion's share of his attention.

The span seemed old, bearing many of the same architectural embellishments that he had seen on the bombed-out shell of the old Industrial Hall. The design of the railings and the graceful arches of the substructure seemed throwbacks to that same era before the dominance of minimalist philosophy upon the field of design. There was grace and poise in this structure… There was style and understated refinement… There was a sense of simple elegance… There were… scorch… marks.

At first he suspected that it may be nothing more than an optical illusion: A simple trick created by the complex interactions of reflected sunlight and shadows. But after blinking several times and squinting somewhat harder, he concluded that his eyes were in fact _not_ playing tricks on him. There were patches of dark charcoal, etched directly into the stone and concrete, forming dark halos around some of the finer detail elements.

Then, he began to take in the bigger picture, and took note of the unusual design. The bridge was shaped like the letter "T," with a main span running directly across the river, and a secondary span that diverged from the main at a 90-degree angle, precisely mid-stream, and ran down to a long, narrow island that looked to be dominated by a large park of some sort.

"Hiroshima is a city of many rivers," Sensei began to explain as the rest of the group took in the sight before them, "and like any river city, it is also a city of many bridges."

The wizened old man paused for a moment, his unreadable gaze seeming to scan the horizon, looking at a long-forgotten skyline that only he could see.

"This is the Otagawa River, and the structure upon which you stand is known as the Aioi Bridge." he continued. "Its unique configuration has long since rendered it a landmark within the city."

Once again, Sensei paused, now regarding the silent structure before him with equally silent intensity.

"It also rendered it an excellent target." Sensei continued after a long moment. "This very bridge was chosen by the American air crew that day as the point at which their weapon would be aimed."

"Wow!" Ron fairly yelped, now much more interested in what he was looking at. "You mean this thing was right at the center of it all, and it _survived?"_

"The damage done was extensive, Stoppable-san," Sensei explained, "but yes. The overall structure is the same. The stone lanterns you see here were pushed several inches off of their pedestals, each toward the outside of the railing."

"Because the bomb went off directly overhead." Kim observed, quickly deducing what could cause such a freak occurrence.

"Correct, Possible-san." Sensei commended. "And while this occurred, the cast iron drain spouts that channel rainwater from the street to the river below were lifted out of their recessed positions and left in protruding positions, several feet above the sidewalks."

"Oh-_kaaaaay…_ Little bit harder to figure _that_ one out." Kim reluctantly admitted, instinctively glancing down at one of the objects in question.

"Many bridges were not damaged by the initial blast, Possible-san." Yori broke in. "As they were built to withstand the weight of traffic from above, such forces proved to be of little effect."

"Okay. And this explains the amazing flying storm drains _how?"_

"While such structures were designed to withstand stress from above, they were not designed to do so against stress from below. Therefore, when the shock wave was reflected off of the water…"

"Blamo! Instant drawbridge." Kim concluded.

"In some cases, yes." Yori nodded politely. "Many of the city's bridges did buckle in such a fashion, while others suffered more superficial damage. The Aioi actually had a portion its deck lifted off of its foundations to a height of several meters before dropping back down, but it still survived intact."

"Man! Now that is what I call freaky." Ron asserted, crouching down to inspect one of the drainage grates in question. "Can you imagine what it took to just lift one of these suckers right off of the ground like that. This thing is _solid!" _As part of his training, he had been introduced to the awe-inspiring power of atomic weapons, and he knew that the A-bombs of the late 1940s were little more than firecrackers when compared to modern thermonuclear devices. But still, seeing the results of such destructive forces first hand lends an entirely new perspective to the situation: A perspective that can never be obtained from a lecture, or the pages of a textbook.

"The power of the atom, Ron." Kim grimly reminded him as the group continued walking once again. "It's enough to put a pretty big dent in something."

And with that, the quartet continued their trek across the river, turning right onto the smaller bridge and heading toward the island that sat snuggly within the center of the river channel.

* * *

The only noise to be heard was that of the wind whistling around the steel casing as Little Boy plunged earthward. Suspended between heaven and earth, its final destination was now a matter to be determined solely by the laws of physics. Inertia, friction and gravity were the forces that would guide its path, and happenstance would determine the fate of nearly every soul present beneath its blunt and bulbous nose.

For 43 seconds, Little Boy fell through the clear blue sky, traversing nearly six miles of vertical space in the process. The internal firing sequence flared to life, tripping a series of three switches in precise order, starting with a timer switch, and then following that up with a barometric switch that measured the bomb's altitude by means of air pressure.

The third switch, known as the "Radar Proximity Fuse," used a primitive radar transceiver to measure the weapon's distance to the ground. At precisely 1,890 feet above the center of the city, it activated, and the most awesome weapon ever devised by man was triggered.

In the rear of Little Boy's casing, a high-explosive charge ignited, sending an oversized bullet of enriched uranium down a sort of primitive gun barrel. Exactly eight feet later, the bullet slammed headlong into a larger uranium slab, impacting with enough force to send uranium atoms careening against each other like ping pong balls in a rubber room. It was a condition that physicists referred to as "super-critical mass," and it was the moment of truth for what had been a three-year, two billion dollar project.

In the sky above the city of Hiroshima, physical matter in its very essence now began to come apart, releasing untold amounts of energy in the process. The elemental power of the universe was unleashed upon the world in this instant, and all the furry of the apocalypse followed in its wake.

* * *

The park that they were now entering was large, much to spite the narrow confines of its island location. Wedged between the Honkawa and Motoyasu rivers, the area had once been one of the city's premier shopping districts, Sensei had explained. The incomprehensible might of the bomb had changed all of that in a heartbeat, however, leaving a barren plain in its wake, and like a mythical phoenix rising from its own ashes, a new heart of the city had taken its place: A serene patch of greenery in the midst of an urban jungle, dedicated in spirit to the prospect of world peace.

Progress through the assembled crowd was slow, but Kim's determination remained strong as she pushed forward through the sea of humanity before her. The landscape had by now turned to an open, park-like setting, dominated by wide lawns and neatly trimmed trees. Concrete walkways criss-crossed the ground as the group presses onward, approaching what appeared to be a large pond or reflecting pool of sorts.

And then, after having rushed and hustled for nearly a half-mile through crowded streets and empty boulevards, Kim abruptly stopped.

The pool before her was huge, its surface as still as a glass tabletop, reflecting the deep blue heavens like a mirror. To one end, a solitary flame danced and flickered atop a ceremonial platform. To the other end a large, arch-shaped monument of rough-hewn stone was bedecked in what appeared to be literally hundreds of floral wreaths and garlands. Thousands of people crowded the surrounding area, and yet not a word was spoken. Throughout the open space and beneath the clear blue sky, silence reigned.

Although she had never seen this place in parson before, Kim somehow felt that she knew every detail intimately. She had seen photographs on line, and had read articles about the subtle nuances and symbolism of its design. Within its serene boundaries, everything had meaning. Every tree, hill and sculpture was significant, carrying some sort of cryptic message for those who chose to decipher it.

The centerpiece of the entire space was the stone arch to her left. Known as the "Cenotaph," it was the primary monument to the calamity that took place here, its graceful span shielding a stone sarcophagus, containing a scroll that bared the name of every victim claimed by the blast. Even now, the list was still growing, with the chest being opened each year on this date, so that a few more names could be added.

To the right, the gently swaying flame was known as the "Flame of Peace," and mandate dictated that it be kept burning continuously until such a time that nuclear weapons no longer existed upon the earth. In this way, it seemed likely that the flame would burn forever, but it is true that hope spring eternal, and as long as there remained even the slightest chance that such a day might yet come, there would always be someone standing patiently by with a blanket and a bucket of water.

Beyond the flame, across the Motoyasu River, and directly in line with both of the aforementioned monuments stood the gutted remnants of the A-Bomb Dome, and beyond that, the glimmering vestige of modern Hiroshima.

"What's that big place behind the Industrial-dome-thingie? A _baseball_ stadium?" Ron asked aloud, turning his head and glancing north along the line of monuments.

"_Shhhhhhhh!"_ Kim sternly reprimanded him.

Just then, a solitary bell cast its mournful tone across the assembled crowd, and thousands bowed their heads in silent prayer. Kim looked down and checked her watch once more…

It was 8:15.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well this is yet another story that I never expected to write. I suppose the inspiration behind this first hit me back on August 7th of this year when I read an online article about the ceremony that had taken place in Hiroshima the day before. As an avid fan of Second World War history, the story of the atomic bombings has always been an area of special interest for me, so in and of itself this is nothing unusual.

What _was_ unusual this year is that at the time, I was writing a fanfic where our intrepid heroes once again found themselves in Japan, taking on an urgent mission with the assistance of everybody's favorite shadow-warrior school, the Yamanuchi Academy.

And as fate would have it, my timeline for that story was quickly approaching early August, and I suppose that my subconscious mind simply put two and two together. Whatever the circumstances of its inspiration, however, the idea for this story quickly imbedded itself deeply into my brain and refused to budge. As a result, I of course had no choice but to sit down and write it out. Oh, the curse of having a creative mindset!

In any case, here's a little background info for those of you who aren't certified experts of obscure historical data…

_Hiroshima, Japan:_ Unless you've been living in a cave all of your life, then you're certainly aware of the significance this city holds in modern history. (If you _are_ living in a cave, then you can stop reading right now, as historical context is the _least_ of your worries.) Needless to say, on Monday, August 6th, 1945, at exactly 8:16:08 AM, the world's first combat-deployed atomic weapon was detonated above the city. No one knows the exact number of lives that were lost that day, but most estimates seem to hover around 140,000. Even today the effects of the bomb are still being felt, as radiation sickness and its after effects continue to claim dozens of lives each year.

_Hiroshima Minsyu Eki Station:_ Located along the northwestern outskirts of the greater downtown area, Minsyu Eki is the primary transportation hub for the city. First built in the early 1930s, the concrete structure featured arched windows and a vaulted ceiling: A combination so visually impressive that it became the architectural model for stations in several other major Japanese cities.

At a range of nearly one-and-a-quarter miles from ground zero, the force of the bomb that morning blew out the building's windows and caved in the roof. The contents of the interior were then quickly consumed by the growing firestorm, claiming the lives of the entire station staff and several dozen passengers, and leaving the structure as a burned-out shell. The current station stands on the same location as its predecessor.

_Tom Ferebee:_ Born on November 9, 1918, Thomas Wilson Ferebee was only two days old when the First World War ended in Europe. Growing up on his parents' farm in Mocksville, North Carolina, he was the second of 12 children and dreamed of a career in professional baseball.

After a training stint with the Boston Red Sox failed to yield a spot on the team, Ferebee turned his attentions to other matters, and he joined the United States Army Air Corps. Serving in Europe he found fast success, and by the age of 26 he was a Major with 63 missions under his belt.

Then, he was transferred to the Pacific Theater.

He would later claim that even while en route to Hiroshima, he had no clue about the nature of the weapon his plane was carrying. All he knew was that he pushed the button, and forty-three seconds later he was fairly blinded by the flash. It wasn't until the Enola Gay had landed back on Tinnian that he first heard the term "Atomic Bomb" used to describe the device he had just dropped.

Following the war, Ferebee remained with the Army Air Corps, transferring to the newly formed United States Air Force when the former Air Corps was split off from the Army in 1947. He would go on to fly B-47 Stratojets and B-52 Stratofortresses through the Vietnam War.

Following his long military career, Ferebee retired to indulge himself in his two favorite hobbies: Gardening and bass fishing. He died peacefully at his home on Thursday, March 16, 2000. He was 81 years old.

_Paul Tibbets:_ Paul Warfield Tibbets Junior was born on February 23, 1915 in the small town of Quincy, Illinois. The son of Paul Tibbets Senior and the former Enola Gay Haggard, he was raised in Cedar Rapids, Iowa where his father worked as a confections wholesaler.

By 1930, the Tibbets family had moved to Des Moines, and followed that with a move to Miami, Florida soon after. By 1934, Paul Junior was attending classes at the University of Florida at Gainesville.

Enamored by aviation since his days as a young boy, Tibbets enlisted as a flying cadet in the Army Air Corps at Fort Thomas, Kentucky, just two days after his 22nd birthday. By March of 1942, he was flying B-17 Flying Fortresses in Europe, and was serving as the commanding officer of the 340th Bomb Squadron, 97th Heavy Bombardment Group, stationed at RAF Polebrook. He would go on to lead the first mission of the newly-formed Eighth Air Force on August 17, 1942, and would later serve as the personal pilot for General Dwight D. Eisenhower.

In September of 1944, Tibbets was selected to head a special project team based at Wendover Army Air Field in Utah. It was this "special project team" that would later evolve to become the legendary 509th Composite Group.

On August 5, 1945, the day before he was slated to fly the A-bomb mission, Tibbets selected a B-29 with the serial number 44-86292 as his strike plane, and dubbed the gleaming aircraft "Enola Gay," naming it after his mother, who had encouraged her son's childhood aspirations to become a pilot.

Following the war, Tibbets remained with the Air Force, eventually rising to the rank of Brigadier General. He retired from the United States Air Force on August 31, 1966, and passed away on November 1, 2007. His grandson, Paul W. Tibbets IV, currently flies the Northrop B-2 Spirit, (a.k.a. the "Stealth Bomber"), for the Air Force's 509th Bomb Wing: The modern-day organizational descendant of his grandfather's 509th Composite Group.

The Enola Gay itself was acquired by the Smithsonian Institution following the war. Painstakingly restored, it now sits on public display at the National Air and Space Museum Annex at Dulles International Airport, just outside of Washington D.C.

_Ted Van Kirk:_ Theodore J. "Dutch" Van Kirk was born February 27, 1921 in Northumberland Pennsylvania. After briefly attending Susquehanna University, he joined the Army Air Corps in October of 1941, just two months prior to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Trained as a navigator, he was assigned in April of 1942 to the 97th Bomb Group: The first operational B-17 Flying Fortress unit in England. He was quickly given a position on the crew of a B-17 known as the "Red Gremlin," aboard which Paul Tibbets and Tom Ferebee were also crewmembers. Van Kirk flew 11 missions with the group between August and October of that year, often serving as lead plane in the formation. Then, in October, the crew was selected to fly General Mark Clark to Gibraltar for a clandestine rendezvous with Free French forces, prior to the Allies' "Operation Torch" campaign in North Africa. A month later, they would make the flight again, this time ferrying General Eisenhower to take command of the invasion forces.

Then, on November 16th, the team led a strategically vital surprise raid that devastated the Luftwaffe's Sidi Ahmed airfield at Bizerte, Tunisia.

After completing 58 missions, Van Kirk returned stateside in June of 1943, serving as a navigation instructor before reuniting with Tibbets and Ferebee in the 509th Composite Group at Wendover. Between November of 1944 and June of 1945, the group trained almost continuously for their assigned mission.

Following the war, Van Kirk remained with the Air Corps for a time, participating in the first nuclear tests at Bikini Atoll during "Operation Crossroads." After retiring in August of 1946 at the rank of Major, he earned a Bachelor of Science degree in chemical engineering from Bucknell University, and spent the next 35 years in a series of technical and managerial positions with the Dow Chemical Company.

For his years of distinguished military service, Theodore Van Kirk was awarded the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and 15 air medals. Today, he is retired and living peacefully, somewhere in the mid-west.

_William Sterling "Deak" Parsons:_ Born on November 26, 1901 in Chicago, he was appointed to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland in 1918, and commissioned as an Ensign upon his graduation in 1922.

His first assignment was aboard the battleship U.S.S. Idaho, which was then followed by post-graduate studies in the field of ordinance engineering. He then served briefly aboard the battleship U.S.S. Texas before being transferred to Washington D.C. to serve as liaison officer between Bureau of Ordinance and the Naval Research Laboratory, where he aided in the development of early radar technology. In 1939 he was assigned as the Experimental Officer at the Navy Proving Grounds in Dahlgren, Virginia, where he helped developed a reliable Radio-Proximity Fuse to be used in naval anti-aircraft shells.

On June 15, 1943 he reported to the Los Alamos Laboratory of the highly classified Manhattan Project. Exactly one month and one day later, he was an eyewitness to the "Trinity Test": The pre-dawn detonation of the world's first nuclear explosion. Following the test, Captain Parsons was assigned as Officer-in-charge of the project's Overseas Technical Group. He would accompany the bomb's vital components during their journey to Tinnian Island aboard the cruiser U.S.S. Indianapolis, then in the air, all the way to their targets. Essentially, Captain Parsons was the keeper of the bombs.

Following the success of the A-bomb missions, Parsons was promoted to the rank of Commodore, and served first as Assistant Chief of Naval Operations for Special Weapons, then as Deputy Commander for Technical Direction of Naval Task Group 11. It was under his direction that Operation Crossroads was conducted at Bikini Atoll in the Marshall Islands.

After being promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral on July 1, 1948, Parsons served as Deputy and Assistant Chief of the Bureau of Ordinance, Navy Department. It was while serving in this capacity that he died suddenly of a heart attack on the fifth of December, 1953. He was 52 years old.

Admiral Parsons was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. His long list of decorations includes the Distinguished Service Medal, the Silver Star, and the Legion of Merit. The Sherman-class destroyer U.S.S. Parsons was named in his honor.

_Charles W. Sweeney:_ Born in Lowell Massachusetts on December 27, 1919, Sweeney first began flying while still attending classes at the nearby North Quincy High School. Following his graduation in 1937, he attended classes at Boston and Purdue Universities before joining the U.S. Army Air Corps on April 28, 1941. After receiving hit pilot's wings and a commission as a second lieutenant, he spent two years training at the Jefferson Proving Grounds in Indiana.

Sweeney served in the role of operations officer and test pilot at Eglin Airfield in Florida before being promoted to the rank of Major and reassigned as a B-29 pilot instructor at Grand Island Airfield in Nebraska.

Soon after, Sweeney was once again reassigned, this time as a training officer for "Project Alberta": The top-secret program intended to train aircrews for the first A-bomb missions. He traveled to Wendover Airfield where he served under the command of Captain Parsons. Then, as pilot training began to wind down at the base, he was assigned to fly transport missions, ferrying the equipment of the 509th Composite Group from the Utah desert to the tiny island outpost of Tinnian.

On May 4, 1945, Sweeney was appointed commanding officer of the 393rd Heavy Bombardment Squadron, an operational element of the 509th Composite Group. Now in charge of 15 aircraft and 535 men, his unit was transferred to Tinnian Island in July of 1945.

Three days after the destruction of Hiroshima, Sweeney piloted a B-29 known as the "Bockscar" over the island of Kyushu, and dropped the world's second atomic bomb, destroying the city of Nagasaki.

Sweeney left active duty with the rank of lieutenant colonel on July 28, 1946, but remained active with the Massachusetts Air National Guard. On February 21, 1956, he was named commander of the 102nd Air Defense Wing, and was promoted to Brigadier General on April 6th of that year. He retired as a Major General in 1976.

Major General Charles William Sweeney died of heart disease at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston on July 16, 2004: The 59th anniversary of the Trinity test in New Mexico. He was 84 years old.

_George Marquardt:_ Born July 14, 1919, in Princeton, Kentucky, Marquardt grew up in the small town of Golconda, Illinois, along the banks of the Ohio River. He was studying at Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington in March of 1941, when he enlisted in the Army Air Forces. Eventually, he received his wings at Kelly Field in Texas, and in 1943 was assigned to the 393rd Bombardment Squadron, which became part of the 509th Composite Group at Wendover Field in Utah.

On May 31st, 1945, he married his longtime sweetheart, Bernice. Exactly one week later, he left for Tinnian, unable to tell his new bride where he was going or what he would be doing there.

"He was leery about getting married. He wasn't sure if he'd even be coming back." Bernice later recalled. "When I read about the bombs being dropped in the paper, I said to my mother, 'Now I know what George was doing and where he is.'"

After returning home, Marquardt spent 45 years as a salesman and vice president for the Allen Steel Company in Salt Lake City, Utah. He died in a Murray, Utah nursing home on August 15, 2003 at the age of 84.

General Paul Tibbets would later admit that if a third bomb had been necessary, it was likely he would have picked Marquardt to drop it.

"He was very good." Tibbets said during a 2003 interview. "I watched George closely, and I can say he was most trustworthy, and he was good at his business. He ran a good crew and flew a good airplane. His men liked him and wanted to fly with him. They knew how much he appreciated him. That made them a gung-ho crew."

Ted Van Kirk echoed Tibbets's sentiments.

"We had fifteen aircraft commanders, and George was certainly one of the better ones." He said. "He was a sound individual, had good judgment, and could handle the airplane and crew real well."

_Silverplate B-29:_ A variant of the production Superfortress, Silverplate B-29s were specially modified to serve with the 509th Composite Group. Sixty-five such aircraft were produced by the Glenn L. Martin Aircraft Company of Omaha, Nebraska between February of 1944 and December of 1947, with 15 of these airframes serving with the 509th prior to the war's end.

One of the drawbacks to the design of early atomic weapons was their incredible weight, and in order to accommodate this weight, designers were forced to reduce the overall weight of the airframe itself. As a result, Silverplate B-29s were stripped of their protective armor plating, and were forced to give up most of their defensive armaments as well, retaining only two .50 caliber machine guns and a single 20 millimeter cannon in their tails. Auxiliary fuel tanks were installed in the aft bomb bays to increase the aircrafts' overall range.

Today, the two strike planes that carried the bombs are the only Silverplate Superfortresses to survive. The "Enola Gay" sits on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, while the "Bockscar" is displayed at the United States Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio.

_Industrial Promotion Hall:_ Originally completed in April of 1915, this ornate building officially opened to the public in August of that year, and was one of the most modern and extravagant buildings in the city at the time. Originally known as the "Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition Hall," the name was changed in 1921 to the "Hiroshima Prefectural Products Exhibition Hall," and again in 1933 to the "Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall." How's _that_ for a mouthful?

During the war, as Japan's economic situation worsened, the hall was requisitioned by several governmental and quasi-governmental agencies such as the Chugoku-Shikoku Public Works Office, the Hiroshima District Lumber Control Corporation, and the local rationing control board.

Standing a mere 160 meters northwest of ground zero, the building's outer walls were left standing by the nearly vertical blast wave. The roof and intermediate floors, however, were driven into the basement by the bomb's gargantuan force, and the buildings contents were instantly set ablaze. All occupants of the building at the time of detonation perished within its walls.

Today, known around the world simply as the "A-Bomb Dome," the gutted remnants are one of the most easily recognizable landmarks within the city. Maintained in a state of arrested decay, being allowed to neither be restored nor deteriorate further, it stands as a stark reminder of the devastation wrought upon the city, and as a tribute to those who perished in the atomic fire.

In 1996, the A-Bomb dome, (or "Genbaku Dome," as it is known to the Japanese), was officially listed as a World Heritage Site by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. (UNESCO)

_Bridge Damage:_ Call me a drama queen if you want, but I fudged a little bit on the descriptions here. The strange sight of stone lanterns pushed toward the outside railings was photographically documented on the nearby Motoyasu Bridge, rather than the Aioi Bridge. While it is true that the Aioi incorporated similar lanterns as part of its design, many of these were damaged beyond recognition when the blast tore the entire north railing free from the bridge deck and sent it hurling into the river. This is the same area where sections of sidewalk were lifted 30 feet in the air, then dropped back down onto their foundations. While the surviving lanterns on the Aioi did show sighs of being shifted, the damage wasn't as graphically depicted as it was on the Motoyasu.

Drainpipes sticking up out of the sidewalks, however is a documented feature of the damage sustained by the Aioi Bridge.

As a brief side note, I'd like to point out that while I'm currently pegging this story's rating at "T," that might very well go up in subsequent chapters. Once the bomb actually detonates, the descriptions you read here will get pretty graphic, and in a damned hurry, to boot! It's not going to be something for anyone who leans toward the squeamish side of things, or has issues with a weak stomach. You know who you are, and you're now officially on notice: You've been warned!

And _yes,_ I am well aware of the irony involved with posting a story inspired by a chapter that itself is not yet posted, so don't even bother pointing it out. _(Smart-alecks!)_

Finally, I'd like to thank CaptainKodak1 for assisting in the role of beta reader for this project. As the site's resident military historian, his insights were invaluable. Thanks, Cap'n!

Well that just about wraps it up for Chapter One. Tune in next time when the world awakes to the dawn of the atomic age, and a city ceases to exist.

Sayonara!

_Nutzkie…_


	2. The Day the Sun Rose Twice

**Required Legal-ease:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything about her. I'm just a simple guy who's borrowing these characters for the purpose of telling what I hope turns out to be a good story. I get nothing out of this, except for maybe a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's not much, admittedly, but it's something… sort of… kind of… I guess.

Anyhooooo… On with the show!

* * *

**- Chapter Two -**

And then, there was light…

A light like none before it…

A light that would have outshone the noonday sun and been visible on Venus or Mars.

It began as a brilliant bleaching white, then deepened to yellow, peach and purple as the roiling fireball spiraled upward, spewing flame and trailing a skirt of boiling, blackened debris that only moments before had been a city of over a quarter-million people. It lent to everything a preternatural clarity and suffused all with a warmth derived from a core temperature four times greater than that of the sun.

Among the crewmen of the three-plane strike force, the reaction was stunned silence. Some thought that the very air itself was on fire, while others wondered if the other planes of the team had even survived. The light filled every corner of the planes' cramped interiors, burning with the intensity of a magnesium flare and causing gauges and instruments to glow with an otherworldly aura. Even through their protective goggles, men were forced to squint, and many would later discover that they had suffered sunburns across their exposed skin. Colonel Tibbets would later relate through his post-action report that the light he experienced this morning seemed to have substance. "It tasted like lead." He would write.

For residents of the unfortunate city far below, the experience could not have been more different.

At the moment of detonation, a fireball 300 meters wide instantly coalesced out of thin air. For throngs of commuters caught out in the open, the end was mercifully quick. So quick, perhaps, that they were even unaware of dying. Tens of thousands were either vaporized or carbonized by the intensity of the thermal wave. Many were obliterated where they stood, leaving nothing more than shadows: Ghostly silhouettes burned into the street by the heat of the blast, and the steam generated when all the water contained in a human body flash evaporates in the span of an instant. Many others were reduced to shriveled, blackened husks: Essentially little more than charcoal briquettes, vaguely resembling some sort of ghastly human form.

At greater ranges, beyond the reach of the bomb's monstrous kill zone, the reaction was far different. Blinded by the light and knocked to the ground by the shockwave that followed moments later, many immediately thought that an airborne bomber had exploded, or that the Americans had invaded, or that some sort of natural disaster had occurred; either an earthquake or a meteor impact. Stunned disbelief was the order of the day, while amidst the chaos horses whinnied hysterically, frogs fell strangely silent, and dogs shivered in the warm summer air. One man who witnessed the blast from a distant mountaintop put it best, perhaps. In his journal, he wrote "The sun rose twice today. Once, very quickly."

It wasn't until these fortunate few returned their eyes to the city that the true nature of the disaster became apparent. There, rising up from the heart of the city, was a massive plume of smoke and debris. It towered above the surrounding landscape, dwarfing the surrounding mountains, surging upward with a velocity and ferocity that promised to never end. Several thousand feet up, it bulged outward like a giant, grotesque blossom, unfurling its hellish petals to the now obscured sun.

The city beneath it had ceased to exist.

Back within the city itself, the few survivors to be found now discovered that their own ordeal was only just beginning. Fortunate enough to have been placed indoors by fate, and shielded by the heavy, concrete construction of the city's commercial buildings, they dragged themselves to their feet, many so lacerated by shattered glass and flying debris that they resembled human pincushions. Then, slowly, painfully, they began to stumble forward, by themselves or in pairs, staggering toward the nearest available exits.

When they reached the outside world, the sight that greeted them could only be described as a vision of Hell. Gone was the perfect summer morning that only moments before had seemed so full of promise and potential. Now, not even the sun could be seen as the world had turned pitch black, all detail obscured by a choking cloud of smoke and searing heat. Rows of neat, tile-roofed buildings now lay on the ground as a shattered, tangled mess, and any combustible material was now being consumed in a raging inferno. The gutted hulks of streetcars burned out of control amidst the chaos, and the specter of thousands of blackened corpses littered the streets for as far as the eye could see.

For some, the instinctive reaction was to run: To the hills, to the rivers, to any place that offered even the faintest hope of shelter from the raging firestorm that surrounded them. Others stumbled blindly about through the choking aftermath, walking aimlessly like zombies in a trance, holding their arms straight out to protect horribly burned flesh from abrasion. Still others simply sat down amidst the ruins and either stared or cried, too overwhelmed by the circumstances to do anything else. But no matter what reaction a survivor may have had this day; there was one absolute and undeniable truth to be beheld…

Hiroshima was now a city of the dead.

* * *

The tone rolled outward across the assembled masses, echoing through groves of blossom-enshrouded cherry trees and playing across the wave tops that flanked both sides of this most hallowed of ground. It rang in the ears of all those present, even as the bell was struck again, its single note being joined by another, equally somber tone.

For a full minute, this was Hiroshima: A modern, bustling, thriving city, brought to a complete and silent standstill. Daily life as it was known stopped cold in its place, the throbbing heartbeat of the city itself stilled out of respect for all the souls that were lost.

It was 8:16 when the crowd finally stirred again, and faint traces of activity became apparent around the Cenotaph. The ceremony was clearly entering another phase at this point, and Kim craned her neck, straining for a better look.

It was then that she became aware of a faint whisper beside her. Through the murmurs and rustling of the crowd she could he Ron's voice, far more subdued than normal, and apparently reciting some sort of countdown. She turned to notice him facing northeast, eyes cast at a seemingly empty section of sky.

As he methodically counted down from eight, she quickly understood the true nature of his actions.

_"Eight…"_

"_Seven…"_

"_Six…"_

"_Five…"_

"_Four…"_

"_Three…"_

"_Two…"_

"_One…"_

"_Boom!"_ Kim thought silently to herself. _"Eight seconds past eight sixteen: The exact moment of detonation."_

Since their little adventure had begun this day, she had suspected that Ron actually knew far more about the events here than he had been letting on. History courses had been a part of his training after all, and if any subject were to be covered in such a curriculum, then it would have to be this one. The fact that he knew both the exact timing of the blast and the general location of the hypocenter confirmed these suspicions, however, but did nothing to explain why he had been playing dumb to begin with. He must have had some reason, Kim surmised, and she earnestly hoped that he would share it with her when he was ready. She made a mental note to bring up the subject when the two of them had some alone time, provided that he didn't volunteer anything before then.

Turning her attention back to the Cenotaph, she could see that a distinguished looking gentleman with jet-black hair was now ascending to a makeshift podium. Dressed in a light-colored suit and standing tall, he appeared to be a man in his mid fifties, although she suspected that he might actually be slightly older than that.

"What's going on now?" Ron asked, leaning over to whisper in Yori's ear.

"His honor is about to speak." Yori softly replied.

"Who? A judge?"

"The Mayor."

"Ahhhh."

"_Shhhh."_

Stepping up to the podium, the honorable Tadatoshi Akiba took a long look out across the massive crowd and began to speak.

"Another August sixth, and the horrors of 63 years ago arise undiminished in the minds of our hibakusha, whose average age now exceeds 75." He began. "'Water, please!' 'Help me!' 'Mommy!' are the cries that still ring in our ears. On this day, we carry etched in our hearts the voices, faces and forms that vanished in that Hell. No hibakusha can ever forget this, the memory renewing our determination that 'No one else should ever suffer as we did.'

"Because the effects of that atomic bomb, still eating away at the minds and bodies of the hibakusha, have for decades been so underestimated, a complete picture of the damage has yet to emerge. Most severely neglected have been the emotional injuries. Therefore, the city of Hiroshima is initiating a two-year scientific exploration of the psychological impact of the A-bomb experience.

"This study should teach us the grave import of the truth, born of tragedy and suffering, that 'the only role for nuclear weapons is to be abolished.'

"This truth received strong support from a report compiled last November by the city of Hiroshima. Scientists and other nuclear-related experts exploring the damage from a postulated nuclear attack found once again that the only way to protect citizens from such an attack is the total abolition of nuclear weapons. This is precisely why the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and the International Court of Justice advisory opinion state clearly that all nations are obligated to engage in good-faith negotiations leading to complete nuclear disarmament. Furthermore, even leaders previously central to creating and implementing U.S. nuclear policy are now repeatedly demanding a world without nuclear weapons.

"We who seek the abolition of nuclear weapons are the majority. United Cities and Local Governments, which represents the majority of the Earth's population, has endorsed the Mayors for Peace campaign. One hundred and ninety states have ratified the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. One hundred and thirteen countries and regions have signed nuclear-weapon-free zone treaties. Last year, 170 countries voted in favor of Japan's UN resolution calling for the abolition of nuclear weapons. Only three countries, the U.S. among them, opposed this resolution. We can only hope that the president of the United States elected this November will listen conscientiously to the majority, for whom the top priority is human survival.

"To achieve the will of the majority by 2020, Mayors for Peace, now with 2,368 city members worldwide, proposed in April of this year a Hiroshima-Nagasaki Protocol to supplement the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. This Protocol calls for an immediate halt to all efforts, including by nuclear-weapon states, to obtain or deploy nuclear weapons, with a legal ban on all acquisition or use to follow by 2015. Thus, it draws a concrete road map to a nuclear-weapon-free world. Now, with our destination and the map to that destination clear, all we need is the strong will and capacity to act to guard the future for our children.

"World citizens and like-minded nations have achieved treaties banning anti-personnel landmines and cluster munitions. Meanwhile, the most effective measures against global warming are coming from cities. Citizens cooperating at the city level can solve the problems of the human family because cities are home to the majority of the world's population. Cities do not have militaries, and cities have built genuine partnerships around the world based on mutual understanding and trust.

"The Japanese Constitution is an appropriate point of departure for a "paradigm shift" toward modeling the world on intercity relationships. I hereby call on the Japanese government to fiercely defend our Constitution, press all governments to adopt the Hiroshima-Nagasaki Protocol, and play a leading role in the effort to abolish nuclear weapons. I further request greater generosity in designating A-bomb illnesses and in relief measures appropriate to the current situations of our aging hibakusha, including those exposed in "black rain areas" and those living overseas.

"Next month the G8 Speakers' Meeting will, for the first time, take place in Japan. I fervently hope that Hiroshima's hosting of this meeting will help our "hibakusha philosophy" spread throughout the world.

"Now, on the occasion of this 63rd anniversary Peace Memorial Ceremony, we offer our heartfelt lamentations for the souls of the atomic bomb victims and, in concert with the city of Nagasaki and with citizens around the world, pledge to do everything in our power to accomplish the total eradication of nuclear weapons."

When he had finished, the man turned toward the cenotaph and bowed deeply, holding the position for several seconds before standing upright and exiting the stage.

So sooner was he gone than a flurry of activity filled the stage, and a flock of a thousand white doves soared skyward en masse, carrying the hopes and spirits of the assembled with them. For just as these magnificent birds soared above the troubles of the world, so did the city of Hiroshima, and so it always would.

Watching with wide-eyed wonderment as the last of the birds circled the park before dispersing into the city, Kim was slightly startled to feel an unexpected hand upon her shoulder. Turning her head with a jerk, she was relieved to find that it was Ron, his expression wordlessly asking if she was all right.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, nodding her head to indicate that she was okay for the moment, but that he should probably stay close by, just in case. Without a sound he slid up beside her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, letting her know that he was there if she needed him. A warm and guarded smile told him that the gesture was very much appreciated.

There was another, brief speech by a representative of a children's advocacy group, followed by speeches from the Prime Minister and a handful of other national-level officials. Then, another man took the stage, this one appearing to be of decidedly more western origins. A bespectacled man with dark, close-cropped hair and a somewhat pale complexion, he easily stood a head taller than any of the other dignitaries present. Stepping to the podium and pulling a set of three by five cards from the breast pocket of his coat, he wasted no time in getting started.

"It is my highest, most heartfelt hope," he began by saying, his voice betraying a clear New Zealand accent, "that here, at Hiroshima, where the world got it so terribly wrong, we may begin to start to correct our wrong. Here, where the world made a terrible leap toward the potential for its own complete destruction, lays a pivotal point in the history of humanity.

"History has very few clear lines where the past lies shattered as clearly as it did here. Here, war took the vast step toward lasting destruction and damage that, like the bewitched curses of legend, lasts from generation to generation to generation. Here the childish faith we all had in science as the key to positive progress was literally blown apart. And here the line between combatant and non-combatant was literally atomized and destroyed.

"For me, as a child of the uneasy peace Hiroshima and Nagasaki produced, this is a trip to the birthplace of that flawed peace. Beyond my role as a politician I stand here today as one of the peace children of the world who has literally grown up in the shadow cast by the horrors unleashed here.

"Suddenly in that shadow even the major world powers were frozen in time. Ambition and power were abruptly restrained. It has been a long fraught peace for many of my generation: A generation that is only now starting to decay in the face of the new threats of terrorism from both the powerful and the powerless.

"So, today I have to say that for me this is beyond a visit of remembrance, or indeed of hope. This is a spiritual journey to the center of gravity of this age. Sometimes it is a mute center, at other times, like today, it comes fully to life to bear witness and remind us all of what still has to be done to make sure a nuclear catastrophe never happens again.

"It is moving beyond words to be here to see some of the lasting after shocks of the tragedy for humanity that took place here and has let me grow gray in peace.

"It has been an age where even the peace has always had the menacing specter of the mushroom cloud behind it. This year, when many of us peace marchers of 30 years ago have found to our great sorrow we are marching again, is a particularly fitting year to be here.

"We, and the world, need to be reminded again just how bad the price of war can become, regardless of what appears to be the justification that begins that war.

"For some years now I have kept near me in my office a blackened roof tile scorched here in Hiroshima by the atomic bomb. It has been a vivid reminder sometimes of the fragility of peace and life itself, and how we must all become willing to defend such things, as only their absence fully makes you aware of their value.

"This has been a year for me of utter horror, as like many of you, I have watched, not in shock and awe, but in sorrow and shame, the mighty of the world decide that they may strike the first blow if they suspect one may be coming. They may not.

"They have neither the moral right, nor the consent of those who stand for the rest of humanity. This year also I have had to witness with sorrow the spectacle of growing numbers of nations holding up the threat of nuclear destruction as some obscene emblem of national pride and progress. It is not.

"Every nation and every leader that goes down this path is instead showing the rest of us how huge must be the level of fear inside their heads. And how badly they need to come here and be reminded how awful and high the price for this can be.

"Against this grim backdrop of horror it is all the more valuable to be here where we all show by our presence that we believe people who have resisted wickedness together can rid the world of this evil. We can.

"It has made me proud that my city, Christchurch, is a city that has publicly stood up for peace for generations.

"It amazed me recently to realize that it is now 30 years since my nation, New Zealand, stood up against nuclear testing in the Pacific. In one of our first major shows of moral force we made the whole world take notice in 1973, when the Government of Prime Minister Norman Kirk took France to the World Court to try and stop the testing of nuclear weapons in the South Pacific.

"Prime Minister Kirk also sent the Frigate Otago to the test site in Mururoa to shame the French before the world. He wanted a Nuclear Free South Pacific and a Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty.

"We got those in 1985 and 1996, long after Norman Kirk had died his premature death in office.

It is worth reminding us all that when that campaign began, the cynical and supposedly worldly amongst us said that a tiny island nation would never make the world take notice. That such a speck of a nation on the Pacific could never bend a major world power to our will for peace. We could and we did.

"Nor has Christchurch given up on the commitment to a world at peace and rid of nuclear weapons.

"Last week we hosted a visit by the grandson of Gandhi and the Dean of the Martin Luther King Junior chapel. They came to speak on the beliefs of Gandhi and King about the very real power of non-violence to get real results. One thousand people crowded into our Anglican Cathedral to hear their message.

"Last weekend one of our local universities held a one day peace symposium to look at ways to build stronger ties between peace, justice and the environment.

"It was another step forward for Lincoln University, which in 1998 held the key role of hosting the Bougainville Peace Talks, which brought to an end the 10 year conflict arising from Bougainville's desire to secede from Papua-New Guinea.

"It was a role that Christchurch is keen to take on again, as a broker and venue for peace. It is a role that we have assumed in the struggle to rid the world of the threat of again unleashing the nuclear choice in war. It is a choice we believe, quite simply should not be available.

"I am sure many of you here today will also have heard at home, the jibes of the critics, about how you should not presume to think you can make a difference.

"Let me remind you, referring to the visitors my city has just had, that Gandhi made a difference, Martin Luther King made a difference, and so can we.

"Kate Dewes, who is here today as part of the Christchurch delegation, likes to try and make the point that the 1986 crusade to ask the World Court for an advisory opinion on the legality of nuclear weapons did not, as legend has it, start as an idea hatched over her kitchen table."

The crowd chuckled lightly at this remark.

"However, this was an idea that to a large degree got up and running in Christchurch. It grew into an international campaign spearheaded at times by retired Christchurch magistrate Harold Evans. The World Court project, as it became known, got 4 million declarations of public conscience.

"It was endorsed by 700 groups globally. It got the backing of 74 members of the non-aligned movement to co-sponsor the UN resolution asking for the Opinion. As you know, in 1996 the Court advised that the threat or use of nuclear weapons was generally illegal under existing international law, and that the nuclear states were obliged to negotiate in good faith toward complete nuclear disarmament.

"It looks to me like Kate Dewes, Harold Evans and several million others ended up making a real difference.

"We are deluded if we believe that individuals cannot make a difference. In reality, it has always been the decisions, beliefs and convictions of the few that have eventually carried along the rest of humanity in new directions.

"I believe we are in some ways again at the stage many European cities found themselves in at the start of the European Renaissance. That is, a time when it was the cities that shaped their own destinies, rather than nations.

"The Renaissance cities progressed because of technological and social changes. I believe we are again at one of those turning points where cities are again hugely influential as national structures struggle to catch up with the pace of change.

"There is again a unique chance for cities and individuals to make a major difference. Today that difference can be made by the Mayors for Peace movement.

"It started here with the Mayors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and it now encompasses 547 cities in 107 countries. Again it looks to me like it is making a difference. We have a chance to exert pressure on our national governments to back our aims to get the next review of the 1968 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty due in 2005 in New York, to become the start point for real efforts to get rid of all nuclear weapons.

"We, the Mayors for Peace, want nothing less than a nuclear free world by 2020.

"I'll finish by again showing how I believe we can make a difference. In New Zealand I helped start a group called the Mayors' Taskforce for Jobs. We started from a point of deciding we would not accept what the realists and pragmatists said were inevitable levels of unemployment. We decided no unemployment would be our eventual goal. We broke the goal into smaller pieces. Our start point became a goal of no unemployment or lack of training for all those under the age 25.

"That goal is now on its way to acceptance and action by central government. From contempt as utopian dreamers to acceptance and action took us only a few years. I believe we can do the same with this much greater evil.

"I want my children's children to not grow up in the shadow of another peace bought at such a bitter, harrowing price as the price paid here. I also believe we can do it. We can make a difference."

Once again, the speaker stood and wordlessly walked away from the podium, pausing briefly to regard the stark stone monument before him.

"I'm noticing somewhat of a theme, here." Ron whispered during the ensuing lull in the program.

"Well you've really got to hand it to these people." Kim quietly replied. "They've taken all of their suffering and turned it into something constructive. Even when they have every right to be bitter and angry about it all, they decide to take the moral high road and build a better world from the ashes of the past."

"Yeah. It sorta makes you think." Ron absently observed, venturing a glance at the crowd.

"About what?"

"About if it had been an American city on the business end of this thing, would we have had the same reaction?"

At this, Kim simply turned and stared at Ron, finding she had no immediate reaction to his question. Given the typically gung-ho and aggressive attitudes displayed by a large number of her countrymen, pondering such a hypothetical situation gave her pause.

"I don't know, Ron." She whispered, shuddering slightly as she returned her attention to the stage. "I don't know."

Any further rumination on the subject was cut off, however, as the morning air was suddenly filled with music, and a chorus of 500 young voices burst forth in a stirring finale to the events of this day.

If from above our heads, missiles and bombs…  
Were not being dropped, but rather books and notebooks…  
We would be liberated from ignorance and prejudice…  
We shall stop fighting and live together in peace.

_If on the earth there was not the sound of bombing…_

_That could be heard, but the sound of music…_

_We shall not be scared by terror and hatred…_

_We shall be able to sing the song of liberty._

_If under this ground there was not buried…_

_Landmines and the like, but seeds of wheat and corn…_

_We shall not be suffering from starvation and hurt…_

_We shall be sharing everything and living together in peace._

_If one wish can be realized, let us abandon all wars…_

_And make this whole world full of love and peace…_

_Until our wish comes true, we shall be fighting…_

_We shall be marching for everyone in this world._

To say that there wasn't a dry eye in the house at this point would be an understatement. Perhaps no other words so eloquently summed up the hopes of this city, that no one else should ever be forced to endure the unendurable fate that had befallen them so long ago. Neither politicians nor poets could ever capture the essence of the moment so beautifully.

There were a handful of closing remarks at this point, and beyond that there was certain to be posturing and pontificating by the normal menagerie of mealy-mouthed politicians looking to make a few election-year points with their constituencies. Since neither Kim nor Ron nor either of their companions had ever developed a taste for such opportunistic grandstanding, they decided to make a discreet exit from the grounds and explore the rest of the large memorial park. Soon, they were moving south, and Kim caught Ron muttering something under his breath as they walked.

"_They approach from the south… against the prevailing wind…"_ he mumbled to no one in particular, casting his eyes skyward in the direction he had just mentioned, _"They make the turn… putting the wind at their back for the escape run…bomb carries forward on a slight west-to-east cross wind… That puts the release point almost directly above us…"_ Reflexively, he raised a finger to trace out the route upon the canvas of an empty sky. In his imagination, he could see three tiny, silver specks floating amongst the nothingness, each one spewing a whisper-thin condensation trail in its wake.

Kim didn't have to be a military expert to realize that her boyfriend was plotting out the approach angle and attack strategy of the strike plane, looking up into the pale blue emptiness and seeing what had been there more than 60 years before. But still, he made no obvious indication of what he was thinking, even giving the appearance of trying to conceal his thoughts at the moment. For someone who was normally so over-the-top and open about his feelings, such behavior was most definitely out of the ordinary, and it set Kim's weirdar off in ways that it had never been set off before.

There was more than just a touch of concern in her eyes as the group mounted a set of broad marble steps and entered what was one of the largest buildings to be seen in the area.

* * *

Say whatever you want to about a Superfortress, it sure made for a good view.

Characterized by a distinctive greenhouse cockpit and large Plexiglas gunnery blisters, the design of this ultra-advanced aircraft offered superior visibility in any and all directions. On a clear day it was as though one could see forever up there, and in this case there was certainly plenty to look at.

From the cockpit of the Necessary Evil, George Marquardt and his co-pilot John Cantlon watched the mushroom cloud rise above the city and wondered if the other planes from the strike team had survived. Meanwhile, back in the gunners' compartment, photographic officer Bernard Waldman pressed the lens of his specialized high-speed camera against the Plexiglas dome and opened the shutter. The camera had been specifically designed and built for this mission, carrying 15 seconds worth of high-speed, high-resolution, black-and-white film. The purpose was to capture the world's first combat nuclear detonation with such precision and clarity that it would be forever preserved for posterity.

Unfortunately, however, history teaches us that technology and progress are often times no match for human frailty and imperfection, and this situation was no exception. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Waldman neglected to review his checklist prior to rolling his camera, and as a result wound up shooting 15 seconds worth of the inside of his own lens cap.

But through a strange quirk of fate, the day was saved by a handful of crewmen who had disobeyed a direct order and taken personal cameras onboard for the mission. The images captured by these renegade airmen may not have been of professional quality, but they survive today as the only photographic record of the event.

Meanwhile, back aboard the Enola Gay, ensconced within his cramped compartment beneath the bomber's massive rudder, tail gunner George Caron had a grandstand seat from which to watch history in the making. The terrifying sight of a great, gray ball of air compressing until it became visible, then rushing upward toward their plane fairly stole the words from his throat. As he watched the gargantuan shockwave surging toward them, a shouted warning died silently on his lips. When it hit, men inside the Enola Gay were tossed about like dolls. To Tibbets it felt like an anti-aircraft burst, and he instinctively yelled out "Flak!"

"The sons of bitches are shooting at us!" Ferebee shouted in return.

By this point, Caron had regained control of his larynx, and shouted a warning into the plane's intercom system.

"There's another one coming!" he screamed. Seconds later, Enola Gay was once again pummeled by the blast wave, the experience putting ones mind to a giant hand reaching out and swatting the plane broadside. Then, the Gay and her crew flew on through quiet air.

Electronic Countermeasures Officer Lieutenant Jacob Besser now pulled himself back into his seat and turned on a tape recorder, allowing the crew to record their personal impressions and reactions. "This one's for posterity guys, so keep it clean." He reminded the crew.

Caron was the first to speak.

"There's a column of smoke, rising fast." He related at a staccato pace. "It has a fiery red core… A bubbling mass, purple-gray in color, with that red core… It's all turbulent… Fires are springing up everywhere, like flames shooting out of a huge bed of coals… Here it comes, the mushroom shape that Captain Parsons talked about… It's like a mass of bubbling molasses… It's nearly level with us and still climbing… It's very black, but there's a purplish tint to the cloud… And still, that fiery red core… The city must be below that…"

And so it was – what was left of it.

* * *

Mind-searing images of the decimated city were now mixed with a cacophony of disorganized noise. The crackling roar of fire mixed with the frantic, pleading cries of citizens trapped beneath the smashed rubble of what had only moments before been their homes. Pinned beneath the wreckage, unable to extricate themselves, many thousands had no choice but to remain trapped as the fires overtook them.

And spread the fires did, as the shortcomings of traditional Japanese architecture now became painfully apparent. Wooden floors, thatched roofs and paper walls reacted like tinder to a blowtorch against the raging firestorm. Entire neighborhoods had spontaneously burst into flames when confronted with the bomb's thermal wave, leaving virtually nothing recognizable in their place.

Chaos reigned amidst the rampaging inferno, as survivors sought desperately to escape the living Hell that their city had become. Those in the eastern sections of the city fled west, hoping that perhaps circumstances would be better there. Conversely, those in the west fled east, thinking essentially the same thing. Still thousands more, faced with flames on all sides of them, fled to the city's many rivers, seeking water as a protection against the growing firestorm.

The first to reach the river banks in this way quickly found themselves overwhelmed by the massive throngs that arrived immediately following them, seeking the same purpose. Weakened by their injuries and unable to stand against the growing tidal wave of humanity, thousands were trampled and drowned, and soon the rivers of Hiroshima were choked with floating corpses. Some would later claim that it was possible to walk from one shore to the other upon the bodies of the dead, and not even get one's feet wet.

With bridges smashed, buildings toppled and the entire world going up in flames, virtually all escape routes from the stricken city were cut off. Phone lines were down and the radio station had been obliterated. The city was now completely isolated from the outside world: Its citizens would face the wrath and furry of the disaster on their own.

* * *

Sounds of the outside world quickly fell silent as the quartet of visitors entered the massive main foyer of the Hiroshima Peace Museum. A cavernous structure, its expansive interior was subdivided into smaller sections by decorative partitions, each section being dedicated to a different part of the city's overall story. There were areas that dealt with the heat, the blast, and the radiation, as well as sections that described the rise of militarism within Japan and the various geopolitical factors that led up to the bomb being dropped.

And right in the center of it all, a massive diorama, laying the devastated city out before every visitor's eyes, painstakingly constructed in exact scale and excruciating detail.

The black and white photographs of the period didn't do the destruction justice, Kim quickly discovered. So overwhelming… so total… so complete was the bomb's devastation that no two-dimensional half-tone image could ever hope to capture its true scope. The entire coastal plain where the city had stood was a barren wasteland. With the exception of a few, heavily damaged concrete buildings near the city's center, not a single brick had been left standing atop another. It was as if a giant hand had somehow reached down from the heavens and carried the city away, leaving nothing but a swath of barren, rust-colored earth to mark its passing.

"Forget about being destroyed… This place was _erased!"_ Ron gawked, staring wide-eyed at the specter of the decimated city. "How lucky would a guy need to be to make it out of _that_ with all his parts still attached?"

"While it is understandable that you would consider such an individual to be 'lucky,' Stoppable-san," Sensei's ever-calm voice suddenly came from behind the group. "I can assure you that such individuals did not consider themselves lucky at the time. For those of us who survived, we in fact often found ourselves envying the dead."

"Oh yeah, well when you put it that way, I guess I can see how…" Ron absently replied, turning his attention to the diorama once again. His eyes had just settled on the highly detailed model of the A-Bomb dome when Sensei's words finally registered in his brain. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he spun around to face his teacher head on.

"Wait! Did you say 'those of _us_ who survived?'" he excitedly shouted, earning several curious glances from nearby tourists.

Sensei simply nodded, the motion barely ruffling his long white beard.

"So then you… and this… you were…" Ron stammered, wildly glancing back and forth between Sensei and the expansive model. Even Kim couldn't help but register her shock as Sensei squared his shoulders and gave a plaintive sigh.

"Stoppable-san… Possible –san… Allow me to tell you a story."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, I think things have officially taken a turn toward the graphic side. After careful consideration, I'll be leaving the rating for this story at "T" for now, but if anyone feels that an "M" rating is warranted here, then feel free to let me know. I'll let you guys be the judge.

The speech given by the mayor is actually an English translation of a speech given by Hiroshima Mayor Tadatoshi Akiba during the August 6th remembrance ceremony this year. The second speech is an abridged version of a speech given in Hiroshima by Garry Moore, the mayor of Christchurch, New Zealand, on August 4th of 2003. Between the two of them, I felt that they adequately summed up the overall thrust of the ceremony, which has grown over the years to encompass activism as well as remembrance.

And the word "hibakusha," which was used repeatedly by Mayor Tadatoshi in his speech, is the term invented by the Japanese to refer to the survivors of the atomic bombs. When translated, the word literally means "explosion-effected people." With 243,692 certified hibakusha currently alive today, and an average age of 75.14 years, they are a large but dwindling group.

The song transcribed here is an English translation of a children's tune called "Negai," or "Our Wish." Written in 2001 by junior high school teacher Motoharu Yokoyama, the tune has garnered international recognition and now serves as an unofficial anthem for the city of Hiroshima.

And I'm sorry if the speeches seemed long-winded and boring, but I felt they were needed to put things in context. If you prefer, you're more than welcome to simply bleep over them and skip right to the juicy stuff. I won't take it personally or anything like that.

_Bernard Waldman:_ Unlike most participants in the A-bomb missions, Bernard Waldman was not a member of the United States military. A scientist by trade, Waldman joined the University of Notre Dame as a research associate in 1938. Five years later in 1943, he took a leave of absence to go to work for the U.S. government on the top-secret "Manhattan Project."

And on the morning of August 6, 1945, he found himself as one of four civilians flying aboard George Marquardt's "Necessary Evil," tasked with observing and recording the explosion. His ensuing gaffe with the camera lens cover has long since ensured his immortality in the annals of photographic foul-ups.

Following the war, Waldman returned to Notre Dame and spent 41 years as a member of the academic staff, 12 of them as the dean of the College of Sciences.

Waldman died of cancer in Sanford, South Carolina in November of 1986. He was 73 years old.

_Jacob Besser:_ Born in 1921, Lieutenant Jacob Besser was one of the younger members of the 509th Composite Group, and the only man to fly aboard the bomb planes of both the Hiroshima and Nagasaki A-bomb missions. As electronic countermeasures officer, it was his job to scan for Japanese air defense radar signals, and to ensure that any such signals would not interfere with the bomb's temperamental "radar proximity fuse" firing mechanism.

His death in 1992 marked a further dwindling of the already small group of men who had been directly associated with the dawning of the atomic age.

_George Caron:_ Born on Halloween in 1919, Staff Sergeant George R. Caron grew up in Brooklyn, New York. He was known amongst his fellow airmen for wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap while in the air: A gesture that he claimed brought him luck.

A military airman since the early days of the war, Caron was first introduced to Paul Tibbets while flying B-17s in Europe. The two men soon struck up a friendship, and when the 509th Composite Group was formed in 1943, Tibbets chose Caron along with Tom Ferebee and Ted Van Kirk to join him as part of his crew.

George Caron died on June 3, 1995, and is buried at Fort Logan National Cemetery outside of Denver, Colorado.

And so, questions and revelations abound as we head into the next chapter. Sensei a hibakusha? What sorts of tales will he have to tell? And just what is it that has Ron acting so antsy? All will be revealed in due time.

As always… Read, review and recycle.

Later, dudes!

_Nutzkie…_


	3. Pika Don

**Required Legal-ease:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything about her. I'm just a simple guy who's borrowing these characters for the purpose of telling what I hope turns out to be a good story. I get nothing out of this, except for maybe a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's not much, admittedly, but it's something… sort of… kind of… I guess.

Anyhooooo… On with the show!

* * *

**- Chapter Three -**

"_Pika-Don."_ Sensei somberly began, standing still as a statue, looking out over the scaled-down replica of the devastated city. "This was the name given to the tragedy that befell our city. It is a combination of our word for 'lightning flash' and the sound of an explosion. It seems appropriate to me that its syllables faintly imitate a sky-splitting crackle, followed by a thunder clap."

"So you were here, then?" Ron gasped in wide-eyed wonderment. "Dude, you never told me that!"

"This _is_ my way of telling you." The old man flatly replied.

"_Hmpf! The story of my life."_ Ron muttered under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry, but if you don't mind my asking," Kim cut in, gaining Sensei's attention, "where exactly were you when the moment came?"

Pulling a withered hand from his flowing robes, Sensei thrust a gnarled but still authoritative finger toward a hill along the city's northern outskirts. From the looks of the model, the area here still appeared lush and green, but a close inspection revealed some damage, even at this great range.

"There, on the slopes of Mount Futaba, in the majestic Chugoku Mountains, is where I was that day." Sensei explained. "From this place one could look out across the Ota River to the Shukkeien Gardens, and the city beyond. It was a truly beautiful place, and I considered myself quite fortunate to be in training there."

"Training?" Ron suddenly perked up. "You mean, you were learning to be a ninja even back then?" he asked. It was a question to which Sensei simply shook his head.

"No, Stoppable-san." The old man explained. "It was not until after the war that I came to Yamanuchi, and began following the path the ninja. At this point in my life, much like all of my countrymen, I was conscripted into the National Imperial Army. As a young corporal, my fellow conscripts and I were training for the so-called glorious final battle against the American invasion. It was something of which we all knew was coming."

"I see. So what exactly was your assignment?" Kim now asked, trying to surmise what sort of role this man might have played in the defense of his country. In the admittedly few times that she had met the martial arts master, Kim had come to know Sensei as a highly astute and intelligent person: Someone who would perhaps be suited as a communications officer, or to some sort of military intelligence role.

So it came as quite the surprise when the aged man answered her.

"My fellow recruits and I were in training to serve as 'Nikaku.'" He explained. "It was our duty to defend the coastal roads against American tanks when the great battle began."

"So what, you were like, learning to shoot bazookas, or light artillery, or something like that?" Kim pressed.

Sensei simply chuckled lightly and shook his head.

"No, young child." He explained in a very grandfatherly tone. "By that time, our nation's factories had been decimated by American bombing, and the equipment you mention was in very short supply. It was our duty as Nikaku to strap explosives directly to our bodies and throw ourselves under the tanks. The motto of our unit was 'One man, one tank.'"

"A human kamikaze?" Ron gaped.

"Well, if you want to do things the hard way, I guess." Kim muttered, still trying to process what she was hearing. "You were really willing to _do_ that?"

"Yeah! Like, time out for a sec, dude!" Ron suddenly and excitedly interjected. "Now while I'm all for going out with a bang, you can't be serious about this. I mean that's just _crazy_ talk!"

"Hai, Possible-san, Stoppable-san." Sensei explained. "While it may be difficult for persons of western sensibilities such as yourselves to comprehend, we considered there to be no greater honor than to die in service to the Emperor. As the ancient traditions of Shinto stated, his majesty was a living God, one hundred and twenty-fourth in a bloodline descending directly from the sun goddess Amaterasu. It was considered the ultimate purpose of our entire national existence to serve him, even if such service entailed our own demise. As I trained for my mission, others were learning to don diving suits and carry mines out into the surf to meet the American landing crafts. Still others were trained to pilot _Kaiten,_ or suicide submarines, and tens of thousands of schoolchildren were being trained to fight on the beaches with spears of sharpened bamboo."

"Dang, dude!" Ron gaped, glancing at Rufus whom was himself blinking in disbelief. "I mean, while you gotta admire the dedication and everything, it's all just… well… _DANG!"_

"Well put." Kim mumbled in disbelieving agreement.

"I was stationed here," Sensei began again, indicating a point on the diorama, "at a small encampment half-way up the mountainside. Here, we trained against wooden pushcarts representing the tanks we would face in battle. We were taught to conceal ourselves in small roadside foxholes, then emerge at the last moment, roll underneath the tank and detonate out explosives."

Both Kim and Ron could only listen in stunned silence as Sensei continued.

"The sun was bright that morning as we were finishing breakfast, the city seeming to glisten in the valley below. It was customary for our morning meal to be followed by calisthenics, then training, so the majority of my unit proceeded to the parade ground for these activities."

"But for some reason, you didn't." Kim ventured.

"Correct, Possible-san." Sensei confirmed. "Each day, one member of our unit was assigned to assist with the clearing and cleansing of the dining utensils, and on this day it was my honor to partake of the task. As my fellow recruits were exercising their bodies, I was exercising my cleaning skills in the kitchen, on the hill behind the communal hall, scrubbing out the rice cauldrons.

"It was warm that morning, even by the standards of the season, and my activities soon left me in need of a cooling breeze. I moved to the window above the sink and pushed open its panes, bidding entry to the gentle breeze and taking a moment to savor the beauty of the shimmering city in the distance. I now find myself grateful for having taken the opportunity to appreciate the view that day, as it proved to be the last time I would ever see it."

"So wha… what exactly happened?" Kim now asked with trepidation evident in her voice.

"All I remember is that one moment the city was there, and the next it was gone, replaced with a blinding white light, like the glow of a magnesium flare. At that very moment I also felt a great, burning heat across all of my exposed skin. I turned away to shield myself from the assault, and the next sensation I experienced was one of weightlessness: Of flying through the air.

"I must admit that I was most fortunate on that day." Sensei continued. "My light-colored uniform shirt and its long sleeves protected me from the lion's share of the heat, while the open window spared me from laceration by shattered glass. Also, a pile of rice sacks along the far side of the room cushioned my fall when the concussion threw me there. Furthermore, while the side of the kitchen facing the city was thoroughly wrecked, it was partially shielded by the communal hall in front of it, and the majority of the structure remained intact, sparing me from a fate of being pinned beneath the wreckage."

"Like, WOW man!" Ron gaped once again. "That must've been your lucky _year!_ I mean, I'm sometimes amazed by my own dumb skills, but I ain't got nuttin' on _that"_

"Such is true, Stoppable-san," Sensei continued once again, "but alas I did not escape completely unscathed. Other parts of my body were not so fortunate, and that is what gave me the scars I carry today."

"Scars? What scars?" Ron inquired, scratching the side of his head in confusion.

Sensei silently bid the two American teenagers to come closer. Gently, he placed two fingers against his cheek, slipping them beneath the flowing locks of his beard. He then lifted the finely groomed strands to reveal a sight that made both Ron and Kim cringe.

Although the aged man's beard seemed ordinary enough, beneath its flowing form lay concealed a large patch of scarred and pock marked skin. The rough, leathery surface reminded Ron of a piece of cheese that had overheated in the microwave and been burned onto the plate. One side of the man's face had clearly been ravaged by the bomb's thermal assault, although the abundance of facial hair would ordinarily make it impossible to tell.

"When I turned away from the light that morning," Sensei calmly explained, "I exposed one side of my face to the full brunt of its intensity. This was the result."

"Ouch." Ron noted, visibly wincing as he inspected Sensei's injuries. "That looks like it must've seriously hurt, dude-san."

"_Ron!"_ Kim whispered, lightly elbowing her boyfriend in his side. _"Show a little sensitivity!"_

"It is quite all right, Possible-san." Sensei reassured Kim. "Stoppable-san's observation is quite correct. My injuries were quite painful at the time, but uncomfortable as I may have been, my own situation was quite enviable when compared against that of my colleagues. Their morning activities had placed them on the parade ground, in the open air, exposed to the full fury of the bomb's wrath."

"Ho boy." Ron muttered. "Why do I suddenly get the feeling that the 'ugly factor' in this story is about to go way up?"

Sensei didn't answer, but rather turned and walked through an open passageway, disappearing into another section of the museum.

"Whoa, hey! Was it something I said?" Ron asked in stunned disbelief.

"Knowing you, it's a possibility." Kim dryly replied.

"I believe it is Sensei's wish that we follow him." Yori spoke up, causing both of her companions to jump slightly. With all of the intense conversation that had been going on, the young pair of heroes had nearly forgotten about their equally young host.

"Oh right… Follow the ninja." Ron quickly conceded, turning toward the now empty doorway where the elderly man had just vanished. "'Cause, you know, why ask someone to follow when you've got that whole mystical man of mystery vibe going on."

* * *

By the time they finally caught up with Sensei again, they found him standing in front of a display case, staring blankly at its contents. From beneath the thick layer of glass, dozens of grotesquely deformed objects stared back in mute eloquence. There were glass bottles, roof tiles and metal tools, all of them twisted and contorted, blackened and melted by the incomprehensibly intense heat of the bomb. To one side, a case of soda bottles was melted together into a solid blob of molten glass. To the other, several ceramic tiles were fused into a carbonized lump, a battered piece of what appeared to be human bone protruding at an awkward angle from one side.

"I do not know how long it took for me to dig my way free from the kitchen's wreckage." Sensei began. "The sudden violence of the occasion had left me disoriented and unable to soundly judge such things as time. What I do know, however, is that once free, I made my way to the parade ground. It was my every intention to assist my fellow soldiers in whatever way I may be able, but when I finally arrived, I found the situation o be well beyond my ability to assist.

"There were many people scattered about the ground, some moaning and writhing, some laying perfectly motionless. Virtually all were horribly burned, and a few showed the signs of massive laceration and shock. I moved to gather medical supplies, but quickly stopped when I saw the infirmary building had been thoroughly demolished. I decided to search the wreckage anyway, hoping against hope that I may find a few salvageable items, and then, for the first time since the ordeal had began, I looked up.

"There, set against the crystal blue sky, a monstrous black cloud was forming. I watched in stunned silence as it rose up from the heart of the city, leaping toward the heavens at a terrifying rate. Once it reached thirty thousand feet or so, it unfurled itself outward like a grotesque blossom, spreading across the sky and darkening the sun with its demonic blackness.

"So then what did you do?" Ron asked, genuinely intrigued by the story his teacher was telling. Ordinarily, learning in this way wouldn't hold his attention so strongly. History was yet another subject where he had scored the proverbial "gentleman's C" after all. Perhaps it was the impact of hearing a first-hand account, or the sense of connectedness to the event one experiences when one visits the actual location of the subject. But whatever the reason may be, the young boy was clearly into the story, as everyone could tell, and Sensei had no trouble in accommodating him.

"I retrieved what I could from the remains of the infirmary, but sadly, it was not much. Our camp was small, and we were never the most well-equipped garrison in our district. What little there was to be found was quickly exhausted. There were many still in great need of treatment, so one of the surviving officers ordered me to the city to requisition supplies from the Second General Army Hospital. I found a bicycle amongst the debris, and headed down the mountain toward the city. Little did I know what awaited me there."

* * *

The quiet serenity of the mountain trail was broken by the noise of a squeaking chain and whirring spokes. The young soldier, barely a man in the eyes of many, rode as fast as physics and his own stamina allowed him. He barely touched the seat as he furiously pedaled himself forward, appearing from a distance to be more like a man desperately treading water than a man riding a bicycle.

Strange sights greeted his eyes as he descended the side of Mount Futaba. There were buildings without roofs or walls, trees that had been flattened like toothpicks, and others that had been left standing, yet stripped of all foliage. At various points along the trail, breaks in the tree line allowed for views of the city below, but on this day nothing could be seen: The entirety of the city was obscured by a curtain of jet-black smoke, great tongues of flame licking upward from its base.

The immediate area seemed deserted, he peripherally observed, suggesting that most residents of the sparsely populated region had fled further into the hills at the sight of the unfolding calamity. He found it difficult to blame them at this moment, as his own instincts were telling him to turn around and flee as well. His military training and sense of duty were the only things that kept him from giving in to such urges of self-preservation.

Rounding one of the road's ubiquitous curves, he was suddenly forced into a panic stop. Squeezing the bike's brake handles so tight that he felt his knuckles crack. He skidded to a stop, fishtailing wildly through the loose gravel of the road and nearly sending himself over the handlebars in the process.

There, in the middle of the road, slowly staggering toward him was an object he did not recognize. It walked somewhat like a human being, but much slower and more haltingly than one would expect. It had no visible features that the young corporal could discern, no identifying marks, and it was completely… entirely… black.

Dismounting his conveyance, the young man cautiously approached the staggering, wheezing figure. The closer he got to it, the more human it seemed, but such was still a difficult conclusion to draw. There were no ears… no lips… no nose. The eyes, if there even were any to be found in the appendage that passed for a head, were swollen completely shut. Any remnant of a face had been completely obliterated, consumed within a solid field of charcoal black.

The arms were held straight outward, tattered strips of burned skin hanging loosely from the gnarled and melted remains of what once had been fingers. All clothing had been either burned or blown off, not that it really mattered at all. The entirety of this individual's body had faired no better than it's face, and there is no need for modesty when there is nothing left to be seen.

The young corporal could only stare in open-mouthed disbelief as this… this… _thing_ collapsed to the ground in front of him. He couldn't even tell if it was male or female as the figure rolled onto what he could only assume was its back and shuddered in silent agony.

"Are… are you okay?" he hoarsely asked. Looking back on the event, he would later admit that this was probably the stupidest thing he had ever said, but in the sheer horror of the moment, large portions of his brain had apparently gone into shut-down mode, and the simple query was the only statement he could muster.

The figure did not answer. Instead, it simply gasped raggedly, then slowly exhaled, emitting a low, guttural rattle in the process.

The young corporal didn't need to be told the meaning of this sound. This was known to many as the "death rattle:" The telltale sign that a soul has just passed from the realm of the living, and into the realm of the dead.

Drawing himself upright, he looked down upon the fallen figure before him. He did not know this person's name, nor anything else about them. He only knew that they had survived the blast and walked over four excruciating kilometers to this point, only to die on the road at his feet.

However this young man did not have the luxury of mourning the person's loss or contemplating the irony of it all. He was a soldier: A soldier with orders, and he would see that they were carried out.

Remounting the two-wheeled machine, he was soon on his way once more, trying desperately to block the image of that unfortunate soul from his mind. As a soldier he was used to the prospect of death. He had spent the last several months training for it, after all, all but expecting it to come for himself and his comrades soon. He knew how to block out emotions such as pity and fear, and to focus on the task at hand.

It had been over an hour since his departure from camp by the time he finally reached the outskirts of the city, and looked around in disbelief. Everything, everywhere, for as far as the eye could see, was in ruins. No recognizable landmarks remained, and firestorms raged unchecked through every portion of the city. The Army hospital was gone, as was most of the vaunted and ancient Hiroshima Castle, where the Second General Army had been headquartered. From the broiling aftermath streamed throngs of survivors, all with their arms held straight out, stumbling forward in a trance-like state, appearing for all practical purposes to be more dead than alive.

Many were without clothing, but even this could be deceiving. Women who had been wearing the traditional Japanese kimono with its characteristically complex pattern of light and dark images suffered especially heavy in this way. The difference in heat absorption between the dark and light colors created a sort of impromptu branding iron, burning these very same images into the skin of the victim, and giving the impression that one was fully clothed when the exact opposite was true.

And then, it started to rain.

It came slowly at first, with just a few stray drops falling from what only hours before had been a crystal clear sky. But the sprinkle soon intensified into a deluge, drenching everyone and everything beneath it. For many of the survivors, the unexpected rain seemed to be a godsend, allowing untold thousands to quench the excruciating thirst that most seemed to suffer from in the aftermath of the disaster. They threw back their heads and drank directly from the sky, accepting this as some small measure of salvation, to spite the eerie properties that this so-called manna from heaven obviously possessed.

For this was no ordinary downpour. This rain was black; as black as a coal mine at midnight, and it seemed to possess an unearthly substance that no one had ever seen before. It fell in drops several times larger than normal, and it clung to everything that it touched, staining walls, streets and citizens with a pall of inky darkness that would not wash off, even under the most vigorous of scrubbing.

The remains of the city were now engulfed in a maelstrom of suffering and otherworldly occurrences. In a world without reference, up became down and day had been turned into night. It was as if all creation had passed through the mythical looking glass and the fabric of reality had been shredded in the process.

And so, with the world spiraling into chaos all around him, the young soldier struggled to maintain his focus, scrounging through the gutted remains of several hospitals and clinics in search of what few supplies were still to be found. Finally, when he was sure he had exhausted all of his options, he turned his borrowed transportation to the north once more, and began the long, arduous climb up the slopes of Mount Futaba, leaving a shattered and smoldering wasteland behind him.

* * *

Kim and Ron could only stand in unblinking silence as sensei finished his tale. "I had many experiences on that terrible day," he somberly said, "but none that varied much from the ones I have just described. Such suffering and loss was commonplace that day, and would continue to be so for the next several months."

"Did… did you ever make it back with the supplies?" Ron gently inquired.

Sensei slowly shook his head.

"The destruction was simply too great." he replied. "I spent several hours searching the remains of the city for anything of use, and helping those that I could along the way. By the time I finally returned to my post, darkness had already fallen, and I had very little to show for my efforts. Just a few well-singed bandages and a partial bottle of sterilization alcohol."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it, my friend." Ron sympathetically said, placing a comforting hand on his teacher's shoulder. "I mean... you did the best you could."

"Ron's right, Sensei." Kim concurred. "Given the circumstances, I'd say you did better than anyone could expect. Even _I'd_ have a hard time holding it together in that sitch."

"Thank you Stoppable-san… Possible-san," The old man replied in a melancholy tone, "but while there is great truth in your words, I have never abandoned the thought that I could have done more: More for my garrison, more for my city, and more for my sister."

"Sister?" Ron chimed in, his ears perking up at the mention of a here-to unknown chapter in his teacher's life story. "You never told me you have a sister?"

"Ah, but this…"

"Yeah, yeah… This _is_ your way of telling me. I get it already!" Ron scowled. "So what's she like? Some sort of evil ninja counterpart or something?" His mind quickly raced to an image of Doctor Director and Gemini duking it out in an exploding lair and wondered if such extreme sibling rivalry was more common than he realized.

"Ah, but the fact is, Stoppable-san," Sensei continued, " that I do not have a sister."

"Huh? But you just said…"

"My meaning was that I _had_ a sister."

"_Ho_ boy." Ron moaned, sensing that he had just inadvertently rubbed salt into a very old wound.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Howdy-ho once again, fellow literates! My deepest apologies for being so late with this update, but with the holidays being what they are, there's been little opportunity for writing as of late. Sometimes you just sort of wish that life would be more cooperative… know what I mean?

Now I realize that there're several things in this chapter that seem to be somewhat beyond the realm of believability. To be honest, I didn't believe some of it myself when I first read about it. But the fact remains, however, that some really freakish things happen within the realm of an atomic blast. Relative levels of pressure and temperature can become so extreme that conventional wisdoms regarding the nature of material reality quickly break down. The world within the mushroom is a world beyond ordinary comprehension, ruled by forces that we with our limited perspective cannot begin to comprehend.

One of the more noteworthy events in the Hiroshima narrative is the story of the "Black Rain." Now while this may seem like something out of a science-fiction novel, it's actually backed up by sound meteorological principals.

It is not unheard of for major geological events, such as volcanic eruptions, to create their own weather systems. The sudden injection of heat and debris into the upper atmosphere will often disrupt normal air currents, spawning new patterns of convection and creating turbulence. In such a chaotic environment, with superheated updrafts fighting for dominance with the cold-dry air masses of higher altitude, severe thunderstorms can be spawned. It is a phenomenon that was most notably documented during the 1991 eruption of Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines, when these thunderstorms mixed with airborne volcanic ash to create a deluge of mud that blanked the island of Luzon.

Atomic detonations produce a similar effect on the environment, representing the equivalent of a small-scale, man-made eruption. Hot, humid air, generated by the blast, rises into the upper atmosphere where it is met by cold air, causing the moisture to condense into rain. This rain then mixes with clouds of soot and ash from the now burning target, causing it to take on the eerie hue reported by survivors. It is what scientists today refer to as "nuclear fallout."

The downside to all this, however, is that the soot, (and by extension of that, the rain), was highly radioactive. For the thousands of survivors who accepted the rain as deliverance from their raging thirst, many were unknowingly signing their own death warrants.

Sensei's encounter with the burn victim on the road was inspired by the experience of Doctor Shuntaro Hida, a physician with the Imperial Army who was stationed at the Hiroshima Military Hospital. Around 2:00 A.M. on the morning of August 6th, Dr. Hida was summoned to a nearby village of Hesaka to treat a sick child. It was from here, nearly six kilometers distant from ground zero, that he directly witnessed the blast. Following the event he attempted to return to his post within the city, but found his progress stymied by waves of fleeing survivors. He returned to Hesaka and set up a temporary clinic to treat the wounded. Today, Dr. Hida is politically active as one of the most vocal advocates for the _Hibashkua._

Today, at the age of 91, Dr. Hida is one of only a handful of living individuals to have actually seen the mushroom cloud with their own eyes.

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I realize that this isn't the sort of story that you'd expect to see updated on Christmas Day. However, I've been working on this section for some time now, and this just felt like a good place to break for a new chapter. We can't control when and where inspiration strikes us, after all.

A very merry Christmas and a happy new year to all!

_Nutzkie…_


	4. Rising From the Ashes

**Required Legal-ease:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything about her. I'm just a simple guy who's borrowing these characters for the purpose of telling what I hope turns out to be a good story. I get nothing out of this, except for maybe a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's not much, admittedly, but it's something… sort of… kind of… I guess.

Anyhooooo… On with the show!

* * *

**- Chapter Four -**

"Little Kimiko," the old man explained, casting a wistful glance toward a glass display case that the group had by now approached. "She was the pride of my family. A darling little angel with a sparkling smile and eyes the color of the sea after a storm. I still remember the last letter she wrote to me at my post. She was so excited by her recent admittance to the First Municipal Girls High School; she could scarcely talk about anything else.

"She mentioned a new friend that she had made. Miyoko, was her name. Through the first few weeks of school the two of them were inseparable, as she described it. They spent their days working side by side at their assigned demolition site."

Both Ron and Kim raised inquisitive eyebrows at Sensei's choice of words. "Demolition site" was not a description that they would normally expect to be used when speaking of a high school class.

But the ever-vigilant ninja before them noticed their confusion and moved to explain himself before they could even ask for clarification.

"The threat of air raids was very real within the city at this time." He elaborated. "Although Hiroshima had been so far spared from attack, virtually every other major city of our nation had been laid waste, and many citizens here suspected that their own city was being reserved for some sort of special punishment. In preparation for this expected attack, many buildings within the city were demolished to create firebreaks. The responsibility for this work was tasked to local schoolchildren."

"So instead of learning trig and a foreign language, students were out tearing down buildings and preparing for eminent destruction?" Kim inquired, trying to wrap her mind around this unfathomable concept. Over the last four plus years she had become quite accustomed to what she thought of as a typical high school environment. There were classes, clubs, cheerleading and the usual assortment of extracurrics. There were sports, social cliques, the ever-present food chain, and the perils of dating. Somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't imagine a daily routine where she and her classmates would be marched out into the streets of Middleton and be ordered to disassemble large portions of their city in anticipation of a coming epic battle: A battle in which they would almost certainly be among the first casualties. She tried to imagine the sense of ultimate despair and futility that she and her peers would face… Tried to imagine destroying the only home she had ever known in the dim hope that some small portion of it might ultimately be saved… Tried to imagine standing side-by side with her friends and family along Middleton's outskirts, armed only with sharpened bamboo spears as legions of enemy tanks and well-armed troops bared down on them… Tried to imagine the horror and the chaos as those around her quickly fell… Her mom, her dad, her brothers, Tara, Monique, _Ron…_ The images conjured were simply too horrific to accept.

"Side by side they worked for the protection of their city and the glory of their emperor." Sensei continued. "Every morning they would meet at the school and travel with their classmates to the site. Every morning it was the same… Every morning until _that_ morning."

Kim swallowed hard, surprised to find her mouth suddenly so dry. A large part of her was dreading where this story might lead, and yet another part of her simply had to know.

"So… so what happened?" she croaked, barely managing to get the words out as anything more than a whisper.

"We do not know for certain." Sensei explained somberly. "Her body was never found, but we nonetheless have our suspicions."

The elderly man then shifted silently toward the case in front of him, his eyes locking firmly in place upon a traditional wooden sandal with brightly colored straps. Across its polished surface, if one looked closely enough, there was a faded footprint, etched in a muted tone of charcoal gray.

"This _Geta_ belonged to Miyoko. She had made the straps herself from an old kimono. It was this unique feature that allowed her mother to identify it among the debris."

Sensei paused to sigh deeply before continuing.

"No remains of either of them were ever found, but by all accounts they were never far apart. It seems logical, therefore, that they were close by one another in that terrible instant, and shared in a common fate."

"Vaporized without a trace?" Ron morosely inquired.

"Hai, Stoppable-san. As it was for so many on that day, death was swift and merciful. Their worksite that morning was only 500 meters from the hypocenter: Temperatures reached 300,000 degrees centigrade in this region, and as your western scientists so often point out, the human body is nearly three-quarters water."

"_Flash… poof… gone."_ Ron muttered to himself, understanding full well the meaning of his teacher's words. While science and physics were yet two more subjects where his grades had been somewhat less than impressive, he knew enough to realize what happens to water when you expose it to heat five times greater than the core temperature of the sun. He didn't need to be Stephen Hawking to figure it out.

Looking around the room, there were other exhibits bearing mute testimony to the bomb's power: There was a massive steel girder from the Aioi Bridge, twisted and warped by heat and blast. There was charred clothing, personal items nearly melted beyond recognition, and a tricycle, warped and contorted by the blast to a point where it resembled a piece of abstract art more than it did a child's plaything.

"Look carefully around you." Sensei commanded, sweeping his arm in a wide gesture to the room. "Take careful note of that which you see, for every one of these items has a story to tell: A story of a life cut short… A future that was not to be."

"Are you feeling okay?" Ron asked, Kim leaning over to whisper in her ear.

"Honestly, I'm feeling a little nauseous." She quietly admitted.

"Good. I thought it might just be me." Ron sighed in response

* * *

It was a much more somber and subdued group that exited the museum hall than had entered over two hours before. It was quickly approaching noon by now, and the bright summer sun rained down with a warmth that would have lifted the spirits of any person not so preoccupied by other thoughts.

The images they had just seen, the tales they had just heard, all bore eloquent testimony to a hellish wasteland that had once occupied the very ground upon which they now stood. To reconcile these images with the peaceful, park-like setting that now surrounded them seemed almost an impossible task.

Stopping in the middle of the wide plaza that fronted the Peace Museum, Kim took a moment to slowly turn in place, capturing a 360-degree mental snapshot of her surroundings. She needed to somehow bring these two contradictory concepts into alignment.

"Something troubles you, Possible-san." Sensei's remark caused Kim to nearly jump out of her skin. Even with her attentions directed all around her, the experienced ninja master had managed to sneak up on her.

"Uh, no! No! Not at all." Kim stuttered. "Why? What makes you think that?"

Sensei simply had to raise a knowing eyebrow to demolish the redhead's hastily concocted cover story.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little put off-ish." She sighed in admission, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's just that, well, everything here's so bright and cheerful-like. How did you ever get from _that…"_ she thrust a thumb over her shoulder toward the museum behind her… "to _this!"_ She threw her arms wide, indicating the expansive square in which they stood.

"Ah! Of all the paradoxes to be found here, you have struck upon one of the greatest, my child." Sensei said in his characteristic grandfatherly-tone.

"Follow me." He commanded. "There is something I wish to show you: Something that perhaps will help you to understand this question that you pose."

Walking south, the elderly yet surprisingly ambulatory man led his small group into the bustling streets of Hiroshima once again. Along the way there were various curiosities embedded within the urban landscape. On one lot, sandwiched between two larger buildings, a pair of ornate concrete columns marked what had once been the entrance to a long-ago vanished building. On a nearby corner, a set of ruined granite steps bore the faint silhouette of a human form. Sensei casually explained that these steps had once led to a bank office, and that this was the earthly remains of a man who had most likely taken a seat on the steps that morning to await the bank's opening. Now, his imprint was forever one with the stone: A ghostly doorman on eternal watch at the gateway to the atomic age.

Continuing south, they followed the bank of the Motoyasu River and crossed the Miyukibashi Bridge, entering yet another of the many municipal parks that dotted the city. Once inside its serene boundaries, Sensei led them all to a secluded corner where several large trees surrounded what appeared to be a rusted aviary of some sort. After taking several seconds to review the scene, Sensei turned toward the group.

"Many years ago," he began, "this land was the grounds of the Senda Elementary School. Here, many children would report each morning. This was a center of learning and fellowship for them. Many happy memories were made amongst these trees.

"At the moment the world changed, they were nearly all here. These were children too young to be doing such dangerous and heavy work as demolishing buildings, so every morning they reported here as normal. Teachers were just starting their morning lessons when the flash came, incinerating them all where they sat.

"The aviary you see here was originally the structural frame of the school's auditorium." Sensei continued, gesturing to the rusted steel framework. "Today, it is the only surviving remnant of the school… except for the trees that surround it."

"Okay, time-out for a sec!" Kim broke in. "You're telling me that these trees survived! Now I'm no expert when it comes to botany, but aren't plants supposed to be even more susceptible to high temperatures than people?"

"Hai, Possible-san." Sensei confirmed. "Such _is_ in fact the case, and truth be told the force of the bomb _did_ blacken their trunks and strip all foliage from their branches. By all observations, they gave every appearance of being as dead as the ruins around them."

Cautiously, Kim stepped forward into the sheltered grove to inspect the massive trunk of a nearby Camphor tree, delicately running her fingers up and down its length. Even through the shade of this urban forest, she could make out faint traces of charcoal peeking out from behind strips of weather-worn bark. As she did so, Ron made a similar inspection of a neighboring Hackberry tree.

"But following the destruction of the city, a most miraculous event occurred." Sensei explained. "For even amidst the fields of endless carnage and devastation, life was quick return. Only one-and-a-half kilometers from the hypocenter, these magnificent plants that had once been written off as dead began to bud once more, some within mere days of the blast. They became a source of hope for beleaguered survivors, indicating that life was resilient, and would ultimately recover. People believed that if the trees could rebuild themselves in this way, then so could the city as well.

"In our modern age, this place has many names," Sensei continued. "But many simply refer to it as the _'Phoenix Grove.'_ For just as that magnificent bird of mythology rose from its own ashes, so too did these trees, and so too did the city that surrounds them. Some were growing here on the day the bomb fell. Others were rooted elsewhere the city and transplanted at a later time. But regardless of what soil they first called home, they all endured the wrath of the bomb, and they have all survived, stronger and wiser for their ordeal.

"You see; _this_ is the ultimate paradox of Hiroshima." Sensei concluded loftily. "That in the shadow of humanity's darkest moments, humanity's greatest attributes shine through the brightest. That the worst of circumstances can bring out the best in ourselves, and that from the ashes of past destruction, a better future can emerge: It is both an enigma without equal, and the greatest lesson to be learned."

"Wow. Like, _deep…_ dude." Ron huskily breathed, pausing a moment to let his honored teacher's words sink in.

"Ditto there." Was the only response Kim could muster, her eyes not deviating from the tree before her. _"If this old timer could only talk?"_ she silently thought to herself. _"What stories could he tell?"_

The two American teenagers were so entranced in their thoughts that they nearly failed to notice when their hosts abruptly turned and began to silently walk away.

"Hey! Wait up, dude-san!" Ron called out. "Like, what monument are you taking us to now?"

"A noodle house that I know of, not far from here." Sensei shouted in response, never breaking his stride. "It is past noon now, and my senses tell me that lunch is most definitely in order."

Before anyone could respond, the silence of the grove was broken by a low, guttural, growling noise: A noise that emanated from Ron's stomach.

"I swear... the guy's some kind of psychic." Ron lamented, trotting after the receding form of his teacher.

"With you, it's never hard." Kim quipped, rolling her eyes as she picked up her own pace, following the group into the surrounding streets.

* * *

The next few hours were a welcome respite from the horrific images and somber monuments that had dominated the morning's activities. Following a wonderful lunch at yet another quaint sidewalk restaurant, Kim and Yori had indulged themselves with a few hours of shopping in one of the city's more fashionable retail districts. During the course of this exercise in capitalism, Kim was forced to admit that her young Japanese companion was far worldlier than the redhead had previously realized. For someone who lived on an isolated mountaintop and routinely went without such things as electricity and indoor plumbing, the young shinobi really knew her way around a department store, and had a sense of fashion to match her sense of perception. It was a stunning revelation to see just how much she had underestimated the ninja in her midst.

For Ron, the afternoon was much more sedate in its nature. Aside from the occasional duty of holding his girlfriend's purchases, he spent the time chatting with Sensei, discussing the finer points of Tai Shing Pek Quar and otherwise simply getting caught up in general. Much to his surprise, the old man was quite accepting of the fact that his prized student was now going into battle armed with some of the most technologically advanced weaponry in the world. He had fully expected the aged ninja master to be far more partial to the ancient and time-honored ways of the warrior, but Sensei viewed technology as yet another tool in the warrior's arsenal. There was little difference, Sensei felt, between a katana and a laser-guided missile… As long as the heart of the warrior wielding it was pure.

Ron quickly concluded that Sensei wasn't nearly as technologically backward as he let on.

Afternoon was turning to evening by the time the quartet finally turned north and began their trek back toward the train station where their adventure had started. Passing out of the shopping district, the urban landscape of upscale shops and restaurants quickly turned to one of modest apartment buildings and small, family-owned businesses. It was an area that appeared no different than thousands of other such neighborhoods that one could find throughout the great cities of Asia. So it came as no small surprise when Sensei abruptly motioned for the group to stop.

The intersection where they stood was quiet compared to the more public areas that they had visited previously this day, tucked into one of the more thoroughly residential corners of the city. Apartment buildings of modest to average height cast lengthening shadows across the narrow streets, bathing everything in a subdued yet satisfying light. Directly across the street, a nondescript apartment block rose to a height of five stories, its exterior of ceramic tile and exposed concrete a silent testament to the minimalist philosophy of post-modern architecture.

And on the sidewalk before it, an equally nondescript marker of brown stone stood guard. A plaque on its face clearly bore a photograph of a ruined landscape above some sort of written description.

"To those who reside within these walls, this is 29-2 Saiku-machi Street: A typical multi-unit residential building." Sensei once again explained. "But to those of us who survived the atomic fire, it shall always remain the _Shima Clinic:_ A private surgical hospital of approximately eighty patients and staff. It was a uniquely-styled structure and quite modern for its day, built in 1933 and bearing features such as round windows and a grand entryway framed by ornate columns of cast concrete."

Kim and Ron both craned their necks upward to regard the contemporary structure before them. The building simply screamed "ordinary," and certainly bore no resemblance to the stylized design that Sensei had just described. Both wondered exactly what the aged ninja instructor was getting at.

"And on that fateful morning, fate placed it at the center of the disaster." He continued, drawing a pair of astonished looks from the two teens. "It was directly above this point that the insidious weapon exploded, obliterating the building and its occupants where they stood. The only remains were the ornate columns of the entrance, and even these were driven into the ground like pegs beneath a mighty hammer, their scarred tops left flush with the street before them."

"So this is it: _Ground Zero."_ Ron breathlessly observed. "One thousand eight hundred and ninety feet straight up from here." He craned his neck upward, tracing an invisible line through the sky, estimating the distance to the exact point where he knew the course of human history had been forever altered.

"You've got to be kidding! They set it off over a hospital?" Kim gasped. She knew that war could be a hellish orgy of destruction, but for a weapon of mass destruction to directly target such a wholesome and supposedly protected place… Even if it _was_ unintentional, it seemed too callous and cruel to be real.

"I have no doubt that it was not the American's intention to target the patients here." Sensei explained. "However, in the brutality and confusion of war, ironies such as this can be a common companion. It is the nature of the beast we unleash, each and every time our species chooses military action over diplomacy."

"Well it's still not right." Kim huffed.

"This is true, young child." Sensei agreed, his tone as soft and paternal as ever. "But it is also true that war does not determine who is right… Only who is left."

"Well put." Kim mumbled in response. She glanced all around her, trying hard to imagine what this world must have looked like in the moments following the blast. It was an exercise in futility.

"Sensei? Can I, uh, ask you a question?" Ron interjected, still staring blankly at an unmarked point in the open sky above.

"I believe you just did, Stoppable-san." Sensei replied.

"Good point." Ron observed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "In that case, can I ask you another question… you know… after this one?"

"That would be most permissible." Sensei agreed.

"Uhhhhhh…"

"That means 'yes.'" Kim interjected.

"Oh… _coolio!"_ Ron enthused before taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Well, you see, Sensei," Ron began. "It's pretty obvious that a lot of extreme nastiness happened here, and it's all pretty much because of us. I mean, not _'us'_ us," he clarified, gesturing to Kim and himself, "but _'Americans'_ us, you know what I mean."

"I believe I understand your meaning." Sensei reassured his skittish student.

"Well that makes one of us." Ron lamented before continuing. "Anyhoo, so I guess my question is that after everything that happened here, and all the things you yourself went through, how are you able to be so forgiving about the whole sitch. I mean, personally, if I were in your sandals, I'd be climbing Mount Fuji, screaming for revenge."

Sensei simply turned toward his star pupil, a silent respect emanating through the flowing tendrils of his beard. He considered his words carefully before speaking.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for asking this of me, Stoppable-san. I have lived many years now, and no one has ever posed to me the question that you just posed. It proves that the honor you possess goes far beyond what would be expected a person of your age and background.

"Despite the horrific death toll and the devastation wrought by the bomb," Sensei continued, "we have actually come to see our loss as a blessing.

"For you see, if we had not lost that war, the military government would most likely still be in power today, and our armies would still be conquering those who we deemed to be of _'lesser ancestry,'_ colonizing and appropriating resources to fuel our industrial machine.

"If we had not lost, then the attitude of arrogance that was a part of Japanese life during those times would still be with us: The belief that because we had the might, we had the right: The right to do as we willed.

"You see… If we had not lost, we would have become _you."_ Sensei finally concluded. "We would have become you, and it would have crippled the soul of our nation."

"Ahhhhh… _Touché."_ Ron admitted. Sensei's remark may have amounted to something of a backhanded compliment, but even a dim bulb such as himself could see the truth in the old man's words. In the years since the bomb had fallen, his own nation had risen to the position of a global superpower. The Cold War had provided the imputes for amassing the greatest military machine in history, and now with the Iron Curtain in tatters and the so-called "evil empire" little more than a memory, his countrymen seemed perhaps a little too eager to flex that muscle at every possible opportunity. Grenada, Panama, Somalia, Haiti, the Middle East… Listening to the evening news, it was sometimes easy to see how charges of "American imperialism" were possible.

"Admittedly, we're not saints," Kim said defensively, "but we do _try,_ and I like to think we've done a lot of good in the world, thank you very much."

"Hai. This also is true, Possible-san." Sensei admitted. "Indeed, if it was not for American investment in Japan's reconstruction following the war, the city you see now might never have been rebuilt. In many ways, our nation owes its very survival to the Americans: You were the ones who stopped the insanity and pulled Japan back from the brink of national suicide. But be that as it may, it is also true that there is no such thing as a perfect blossom: All nations have their faults, yours as well as my own."

"Okay. You've got me there." Kim admitted. The old man before her had a point, and experience had taught her that there was no use in arguing with someone who was older than your grandparents.

"Very well then." Sensei concluded, turning to resume the group's walk. "I suggest that we proceed with our departure, as the hour grows late and the mountain beckons."

Realizing that a nighttime trek up the slopes of Mount Yamanuchi would be a daunting task, the group quickly picked up their pace, heading northward toward the transit center that was their destination for the evening.

* * *

For several minutes, the group trudged onward, probing the labyrinth of narrow streets and high-rise buildings that dominated the eastern edge of downtown Hiroshima. They headed north for several blocks, then turned east onto a wide thoroughfare, dodging the waning currents of rush hour traffic as they went. In such unfamiliar terrain it was easy for a tourist to become lost: A casualty of the urban jungle. But with Sensei as their guide, the complex web of streets and alleyways provided little difficulty, and they soon found that they were making good time.

Right up until the moment that Kim decided to make some conversation.

"So Ron, what do you think of traditional Japanese cuisine?" she asked casually.

Silence was her only answer.

"Ron?" she asked, turning around to where she thought her partner was. She became rather confused when her actions revealed nothing but an empty street.

"Roo-_ooooon!"_ she called out, her voice probing the darkness that was quickly enveloping the city. Truth be told, she was starting to get a little worried.

"Is something the matter, Possible-san?" Yori inquired, stopping and turning to see what had prompted her companion's sudden outburst.

"It's Ron." Kim admitted. "One minute he was right behind me, and the next minute he was gone!"

"You were not aware of his departure?" Yori asked, glancing about for any sign of her blond-haired friend.

"No!" Kim snapped. "He wasn't more than ten feet behind me the whole time… right up until the part where he… you know… disappeared."

"This is most peculiar." Yori observed.

"Ya _think?"_

"Now, now children." Sensei calmingly intervened. "If you will only exercise patience, I believe I may know where the chosen one can be located."

"Really?" Kim asked in surprise. "I don't suppose you'd care to let us in on the secret?"

"Of course not, Possible-san." Sensei answered. "You were of course aware of Stoppable-san's actions earlier this morning?"

"Well yeah, now that you mention it." Kim admitted, thinking back to their exchanges before and following the memorial service. "He seemed kind of skittish… I mean, more so than normal. I sensed there was something bothering him, but he didn't want to talk about it, so I let it drop."

"Your intuition serves you well, Possible-san." Sensei confirmed. "I too sensed the conflict within Stoppable-san's heart, and I strongly suspect where that conflict may lead him. Follow me."

Kim and Yori dutifully followed the wizened martial arts master back the way they had come, passing the intersection where they had made a right turn a just few minutes prior. In the distance was the form of the A-Bomb Dome, now bathed in the surreal glow of green floodlights. It was an other-worldly sight, set against the vibrant backdrop of the urban skyline at night, and at the base of it all stood a solitary figure that Kim could just make out as being familiar.

She was just about to run toward him, calling out his name when Sensei's firm hand upon her shoulder stopped her. Shaking his head slowly, he indicated that this would not be a wise course of action. Whatever his reasons may be, Ron needed this moment to himself, and she would be remiss if she were to intrude upon him in this moment of solitude.

For several minutes, the group held their places, none daring to move, nor speak. Ron stared blankly at the stark walls that now glowed with a strange iridescence, unflinching and unblinking, his mind clearly wrestling with some unknown issue of gargantuan weight. It wasn't until he slumped his shoulders and released a forlorn sigh that Kim new it was okay to approach him.

Slowly, staying careful not to startle him, Kim crept forward to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder. He glanced at her, his distraught, brown eyes taking on an indescribable color in the green glow of the lights, and he swallowed hard. Something was obviously tearing him up inside: Something that he couldn't internalize any longer.

"You want to talk about it, baby?" she softly asked.

Ron simply sighed again and cast his gaze downward at the engraved plaque that sat at the base of the perimeter fence. He took a deep breath and held it for several long seconds.

"Now, I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." He whispered, his words barely audible above the sound of traffic in the background.

"Huh?" was Kim's stunned response. She really had no idea what to make of that statement.

"It is a quote from the Hindu holy book of Bhagavad-Gita." Yori explained, stepping up behind Kim. "It was also spoken by the physicist Robert Oppenheimer after he helped create your country's 'Manhattan Project.'"

"Oh." Was Kim's only response. She turned to face her BF once again, still trying to wrap her mind around what could have him so upset.

"Well c'mon, Ron. Talk to me!" she commanded. "Something's obviously eating at you right now, and you know I'm always there for you. So just let loose and unload on me already! What's the big problemo?"

"The problem, KP, is that I'm a combat pilot." Ron admitted, staring up at the ruined building once again. "So there's not much separating me from the guys that did this."

"What? You think that just because you fly warbirds you're in the same league as this? I really don't see the connection." Kim responded emphatically. "I mean, the people you fly for don't even have a nuclear capability."

"Don't be so sure about that, Kimbo."

Silence…

For the next several seconds, Kim could only stare at Ron in stunned disbelief. This bombshell admission, if she had even heard it right, turned everything she thought she knew about Ron's quasi-employer onto its ear.

"Wha… What are you talking about?" she finally managed to ask.

"You know how big the Thor is, don't you?" he asked.

"Well it's kind of hard to miss." she admitted. "The thing is like a floating island, after all."

"Well, there's a lot of corridors and passageways on a ship that size," Ron explained. "And sometimes I tend to go off and do some exploring."

"You mean you get lost on your way to somewhere else."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to… The point is that I occasionally find myself in unfamiliar territory and I see things that I've never seen before."

"Such as?"

"Such as about a month ago, when I… uh… took an unexpected detour on my way to the mess deck."

"Uh huh… Unexpected detour. Yeeeeeah…"

"Moving on! Anyway, I got into an unfamiliar part of the ship, and wound up staring at some big, gray door with a radiation symbol plastered right in the middle of it, large as life."

"Radiation? On a nuclear-powered ship? Wow, stop the presses." Kim quipped.

"Don't be so rushie on the judgie thing, KP." Ron said defensively. "This was in the bow of the ship. The reactor rooms are back toward the stern. And what's more, access to the propulsion department isn't normally secured with palm scanners and coded keypads."

"Ron? What are you trying to say?" Kim asked, hoping against hope that her rising suspicions might still be proven wrong.

"I'm saying that I think we've got nukes on board that tub." Ron openly admitted. "What's more, nobody I've talked to will discuss it with me, and that only makes me more suspicious. The really sensitive stuff is always above my pay grade."

"Okay… okay… So maybe your right." Kim observed, trying to salvage the situation in some way. "Maybe the Eagles do have nuclear capability. But that doesn't mean that you'll actually be called on to drop one. You're a fighter pilot, after all."

"I'm a fighter-bomber pilot, KP." Ron corrected. "Remember that the Tomcat has ground-strike capability too, and if they can make nukes small enough to be stuffed into briefcases, then they can sure as heck make 'em small enough to sling under the belly of an F-14."

Casting his gaze downward, his eyes squeezed shut, his fists clenched around the railing in front of him and his teeth ground together, summoning all of the courage he could muster in an attempt to maintain his composure.

"It's just that… If the order ever comes, it could be me up there… My finger on the button… And all of this could be…" His words trailed off, dying somewhere on the gentle breeze that was now blowing in from the nearby coast.

Taking him by the shoulders, Kim turned Ron to face her and wrapped her arms tightly around him, allowing him to take several silent, anguished sobs. He eagerly returned the embrace as his ragged breathing slowly began to settle, and his pulse rate returned to a more normal cadence. Patient and supportive as ever, Kim waited for the right moment before breaking the silence between them.

"Shhhh… It's okay, sweetie." She whispered into his ear. "I doubt that sort of order will ever come, and if it does then we'll figure it out together."

"Really?" Ron whimpered softly.

"Mmm-hmm." Kim reassured him. "We both signed up for this ride. We'll both deal with whatever the road brings."

"Thanks, KP. That means a lot to me."

"I know, baby. It means a lot to me, too."

* * *

Racing northward through the night, the sleek bullet train cut through the air like a knife, streaking past coastal communities whose lights became a fleeting blur in the face of such incredible speed.

Watching the passing light show with only half-interest, a pair of emerald green eyes seemed distant and unfocused. Simultaneously staring at everything and nothing, their vacant and distracted nature betrayed the depth of thought going on behind them.

In all honesty, this had not been the day she expected when she had awoken that morning. Anticipation had been for a typical day of traveling and socializing, but these expectations had been quickly derailed by circumstance. It had all been somewhat disorienting, but not really new. In the life of a teenage heroine, it seemed nothing was ever routine.

What had been new was the depth of the experience, and the equally deep questions that it proposed: Questions about the nature of human conflict, and her own role within that context. How far was she truly willing to go in her chosen field? And how much responsibility was she willing to accept? She claimed that she could do anything, but were there some lines that even she was unwilling to cross? And what if such choices were somehow made for her? How would she respond?

Turning away from the window, her eyes fell onto the slumbering person beside her. A day full of walking had taken a lot out of her BF, and his blond-haired form was now sprawled out in one of the comfortable reclining seats, lightly snoring as he peacefully dozed away the trip. Kim's smile brightened as she momentarily studied him, drinking in his cherubic features and reflecting on what they had experienced together this day.

If anything, the questions Ron now faced were even greater than her own, she had to admit as she returned her gaze to the darkened window. His burden of responsibility was heavier than hers, and the decisions he may one day make carried greater weight as well. She shuddered to think of the responsibility that might ultimately be placed upon him, upon them… but steadied herself with the knowledge than any such burden would be shared between them. Together, they had learned, they could make it through almost anything: They would make it through this the same way.

She sighed plaintively, partly for fear of this potential future, and partly in relief for knowing that she would not face it alone.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Kim's head snapped around to the unexpected sight of her boyfriend staring concernedly at her.

"Oh, hey sleepyhead." She said. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to see that something's bugging you." He replied. "So what's up?"

"Oh, it's pretty much everything right now." Kim admitted with another sigh.

"So summarize it for me." Ron said, bringing his seat forward from its reclined position and taking a more attentive posture. "Give me the bullet points."

"Okay, it's like this," Kim began. "I know about atomic weapons… I've known about them for a long time… And it's not like I've got any illusions about them going away anytime soon. I mean, sure… it's a pleasant thought and all that, but c'mon! Let's be real about things!"

"Okay, I'm with you so far." Ron prodded.

"But now that we've seen what we've seen, and we suddenly know all of this stuff… It's like it totally changes everything, you know?"

"Alright, you just lost me." Ron admitted, scratching his head in confusion.

"It's about that kind of destruction, Ron." Kim sighed with exasperation in her voice. "Now maybe it just never seemed real until now. Maybe because it was always an abstract concept, I never really appreciated what it meant. But whatever the reason, I've suddenly got this whole new appreciation for what these… these things can do, and I almost feel some sort of responsibility about it all. It's just all so confusing."

"You feel responsible? KP, I don't think we can really take the wrap for something that happened over four decades before we were born."

"I'm not saying I feel directly responsible, Ron." Kim moaned. "I'm saying that with all our world saving, a lot people look up to us, and that brings a certain degree of responsibility to the table. Not responsibility for anything specific, mind you, but for the state of things in general."

"You're worried about it happening again, aren't you?"

"This is what I'm saying." Kim admitted. "And as the girl who can do anything, I should be able to do something for cryin' out loud!"

"Okay, so you want to get involved with this." Ron observed, leaning back in his seat and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "So just how do you propose to go about this?"

"That's the sticky part." Kim admitted, looking resignedly toward the floor. "I really have no idea what to do with a sitch this big. If it was just some bad guy with a few bombs stashed away in a lair somewhere, then I'd be all over it. But this… This is just beyond my normal comfort zone."

"But you're serious about making some sort of difference, right?" Ron prodded.

"Totally! I want to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again… Ever!"

"Well then that's a start right there, isn't it?" The blond observed, gently reaching over to place a comforting arm around his GF's shoulders. Kim gratefully accepted the warm offer, nestling her head into the soft spot of his shoulder.

"And don't worry." Ron reassured the snuggling redhead in his arms, "With you and your Kimness, you'll find a way to make it happen. Just like you always do."

"You'll be there too when it happens, right?" Kim cooed, nuzzling lightly into the nape of his neck.

"Well where else would I be?" Ron asked, acting as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll be standing front an center. Just look for the guy cheering the loudest."

"I'd better not see you in the crowd!" Kim moaned serenely. "You'd better be up there on stage with me mister, right by my side."

"Is than an order, sir?" he asked playfully, glancing lovingly at the peaceful form now snugly ensconced within his embrace.

"It is, soldier." She purred contentedly… "You'd better believe it is."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, well, well! My first posting of the New Year! Here's hoping that 2009 finds you all in better spirits than 2008 left you. Hope springs eternal, dudes!

Early in this chapter I introduced a character named Miyoko, who is befriended by Sensei's sister. In reality, this little girl was Miyoko Inoue, and both she and her story are very real. As mentioned, her high school class was tasked with constructing firebreaks in the area of the Zaimoku-cho neighborhood, just a few blocks south of where the Peace Museum now stands. Caught in the open and without any measurable cover, the students bore the full brunt of the bomb's wrath, and were vaporized where they stood. It was three months before Miyoko's mother, Tomiko Inoue, located the wooden sandal amongst the ruins. Even amidst the devastation, the unique straps made it easy to identify.

The twisted tricycle is another real-life exhibit from the museum. Shinichi Tetsutani, ("Little Shin" to his family), was nearing his fourth birthday in the late summer of 1945. Having never known peacetime in his short life, he had grown up in a world of shortages and rationing. It's not surprising then, that something a simple as a tricycle would be counted among his prized possessions. Shinichi loved his trike, by all accounts, and took great joy in riding it through his family's garden on warm summer mornings, including the morning of Monday, August sixth.

Exposed at a range of 1,500 meters from the hypocenter, Shin was violently thrown from his tricycle, suffering second and third degree burns over nearly his entire body. The tricycle itself suffered severe damage from the extreme heat, its frame being warped and partially melted by the inferno. His family did their best to care for him, but the young boy's wounds were simply too great. Little Shin passed away on the evening of August 6th, as the city burned around him.

Believing that no child so young should be buried alone, Shinichi's father buried him with his beloved tricycle in what had been the back yard of the family home. Forty years later, in 1985, Shinichi's remains were exhumed for formal burial, and the tricycle was donated to the museum where it sits on public display today.

_Phoenix Grove:_ One of the more obscure attractions within the city of Hiroshima today, the Phoenix Grove exists as part of Senda Prefectural Park. Following the destruction of the city, it was here that residents first started noticing patches of green emerging from the landscape of rust brown and charcoal black. The realization that life was returning to the devastated city was a source of inspiration to many, and over the ensuing months the area became a repository for surviving trees that stood in the path of various reconstruction projects. Today nearly every tree on this plot of land is a survivor of the bomb. Seeds from these trees are collected annually and given as gifts of goodwill to various cities and foreign nations. As a result, the descendents of these most hearty plants are now scattered across the globe, numbering in the thousands.

_Ground Zero:_ It seems strange to many, but in a city so dominated by monuments and memorials, and where nearly every restaurant and business has some small collection of artifacts on display, the focal point of it all exists in relative obscurity. The hypocenter: The exact point on the ground above which the bomb exploded, is tucked away within a residential neighborhood, marked only by a simple, unobtrusive monument stone. It's quite possible to walk right past this marker without realizing it's meaning, or even noticing its presence. Meanwhile, thousands of tourists who visit the city each year are completely unaware of its existence. While massive throngs flock to the Peace Park and Cenotaph in the city's heart, just a quarter mile away, this unassuming piece of stone sits quietly in the shadows of average residential high-rises. It is the picture of anonymity, and one of Hiroshima's best-kept secrets.

And Sensei's little speech about forgiveness toward the Americans was adapted from a statement made by a retired nuclear physicist named Dr. Feruda back in 2005. Such was his response when asked roughly the same question that Ron posed.

_Shima Clinic:_ One of the greatest ironies of this entire historic episode that day was the actual location of the hypocenter. Approximately 800 feet west-by-southwest from the targeted Aioi Bridge, Doctor Kaoru Shima's hospital was one of the more exclusive private clinics in the region. Featuring private rooms and an extensive nursing staff, many affluent citizens elected to have minor surgical procedures performed here than at the larger public hospitals in the city. Although to spite such amenities and a well-to-do clientele, patients still relied on having their meals prepared and brought to them from home by family members. Such was a long-standing tradition within the Japanese medical professions at the time.

However, to spite the well-known accuracy of the Norden bombsight, and Tom Ferebee's reputation as one of the best bombardiers in the U.S. Military, Little Boy missed its aiming point by that crucial 800 feet, and exploded directly above the clinic. Regardless of what technology was employed, Little Boy was an unguided weapon, and a lot can happen during nearly 35,000 feet of freefall.

…Not that a difference of 800 feet really matters when you're dealing with an 18-kiloton blast yield.

Doctor Shima was fortunate on that day. A series of house calls had kept him out of the city overnight, and he was still several miles away when the blast struck. His patients and staff, on the other hand, were not so lucky: They succumbed so quickly that it is likely they were completely unaware of dying.

As a side note, the precision-guided smart bombs that we take for granted today were still more than a quarter-century away at that point in time. Such munitions would not be deployed in combat until April 27, 1972, when during Vietnam's Operation Linebacker, a flight of F-4 Phantoms used newly-developed laser-guided bombs to destroy the Dragon's Jaw Bridge in North Vietnam.

**Regarding this story in General:**

Okay! First off, I'll admit that when it comes to my work as an author, this was one of my more unusual offerings. _Kim Possible_ as a concept is generally far more about action and humor than it is about drama and historical narrative. Inserting these characters into the darker recesses of human history and seeing what sorts of uncomfortable truths they uncover is really not what the show's creators had in mind, I have to believe.

But then again, as a writer who's first offering involved an in-depth exploration of the Holocaust, perhaps it's not so unusual after all.

I realize full well that my chosen subject matter is controversial, and will likely stir up some heated responses, both positive and negative in nature. Truth be told, I would be disappointed if such was _not_ the case. Truly effective writing reaches out and stirs the reader, provoking both thought and response, I've always felt. In this way, writing becomes a truly interactive experience: A two-way street of communication, if you will.

In regards to the scene where Kim imagines herself in the role of a Japanese schoolgirl of the period: This was my attempt to create something that I find sadly lacking in contemporary analysis of the war: Empathy for the Japanese.

While I will not even attempt to justify the actions of the Imperial leadership neither before nor during the war, I believe that it is important to look deeper into Japanese society of the time and acknowledge that there are certain complexities at work. Like many such issues, things are not as simple as they seem on the surface.

The fact is that while the governmental and military leaders of Japan willingly and with malice of forethought set their nation on the path of imperial conquest, and ultimately, self-destruction, the people who they claimed to lead had little to no say in such matters. During this era, the ruling party was isolated from the population at large, unaccountable to all but themselves. The very act of looking directly at the emperor was a capital offense in this most stoic and rigid society, and tradition demanded than when his majesty spoke, it was the duty of all to effectively say "yes sir," and carry out his wishes.

And so while it is easy to blame the leaders of such a mad regime, it is far more difficult to place blame with the general populace: People who ultimately bore the brunt of the suffering brought about by these same leaders' decisions. Granted, large portions of this populace blindly followed said leaders off the cliff that the war ultimately became, but when iron-fisted leadership is backed up by literally three thousand years of tradition, what choice did they truly have? What would any of us do, I ask you, if we found ourselves trapped in a runaway society that had lost its sanity? What choices would we have made?

_Choices…_

In the grand scheme of things, life is about choices. It is the choices we make, after all, that define our lives and the paths we take through this world. Choices such as whether or not to take a new job, where to live and who to marry mark the watershed moments of our lives. Even seemingly inconsequential decisions such as what to fix for dinner and the ever ubiquitous "paper or plastic" can have repercussions reaching far beyond anything that would ordinarily be expected.

Questions and decisions form the structure of our existence and frame our outlook on the world. Which car should I buy? Whom should I vote for? Should our country go to war? Should I quit my job? Should I ask for a raise? And yes… _Should we drop the bomb?_

This final question represents perhaps the most monumental, controversial and frequently second-guessed decision in history. Few if any decisions have had such far-reaching or long-lived consequences, and there often seems to be as many opinions on the subject as there are people on the planet.

Some paint President Truman's decision as a purely political one, stating that in a post-war Europe, it was imperative for Premier Stalin of the Soviet Union to know that America not only had the bomb, but also was also not afraid to use it. They call the decision a "crime against humanity," always failing to acknowledge that the greatest crime against humanity is that of war itself.

Others paint a much more sympathetic picture of the American President, defending him with the assertion that millions would have likely been killed on both sides in the event of a full-scale invasion of Japan, and that by forcing an early end to the war, the bombs actually _saved_ lives. It is even possible in this interpretation of history that dropping the bomb is the primary reason for the Japanese culture itself surviving to this day. It doesn't take a military expert, after all, to understand that Japanese plans for the defense of their home islands amounted to a blueprint for national suicide.

Supporters of this camp often point to Japan's War Ministry Cabinet and its insistence on surrender terms that included not only the assurance of the Emperor's position, but also the prohibition of any occupation by allied forces, the sovereign right of Japan to try its own war criminals, and the right of self-disarmament for the Japanese military. Such terms would have constituted a mere indefinite cease-fire, rather than a true surrender, and would have virtually assured a resurgent Japan within a decade's time, once her military strength had been rebuilt. Given the dire circumstances faced by their nation at the time, such hard-line positions only serve to show just how far divorced from reality the Japanese leadership had become.

And even the Japanese themselves had a role in the decision. Following issuance of the allies' "Potsdam Declaration," which softened the allied position slightly by allowing for retention of the Emperor, Prime Minister Kantaro Suzuki responded by using the term _"mokosatsu,"_ meaning, "to kill with silent contempt." Whether this meant that the Japanese were rejecting the declaration outright or simply refusing comment on the subject is something that is still debated today.

And then there is the counter-intuitive truth that the annual human death toll from military action had been increasing at a geometric rate since the dawn of the industrial revolution. The concepts of efficiency and mechanized mass-production that had given rise to the manufacturing centers of Europe and America had been adapted to the age-old art of warfare, resulting in mass slaughter that transcended the battlefield and swept up entire civilian populations into its destructive wake. It seemed as though humanity was riding an express train to self-destruction, when quite suddenly, in the 1950s, the annual figure stopped its meteoric rise and leveled off at approximately 500,000 deaths per year: A figure that is still maintained to this day.

In our modern nuclear age, this is perhaps the greatest irony: That the ability to bring such unimaginable destruction to an enemy could actually serve as a deterrent to military escalation, and that these instruments of Armageddon might actually be regarded in the final accounting as peacemakers. It seems to turn our entire understanding of reality and human relations on its ear. It's as if the world itself has gone through the looking glass and entered a realm where up is down and black is white.

But in the end, the nature of these devices is irrelevant. Love them or hate them… be they good or evil… Peacemakers or the implements of our species' own destruction… These weapons are here to stay, and while some may dream of a nuclear-free future, nothing in all creation can ever un-ring the bell. Nothing can ever close the Pandora's box that was opened in the pre-dawn darkness of July 16, 1945. The atomic fireball that rolled across the New Mexico desert that morning irrevocably and fundamentally changed the nature of life on this planet. That which is done can simply not be undone.

The dawn of the nuclear age more than 50 years ago brought a multitude of things: Fear and hope… progress and oppression… potential and false promise. But the day is not yet done…

…At least, not as of this millisecond.

_Nutzkie…_


End file.
